Weekend at Vasey's
by Elfrieda
Summary: The Sheriff's deal with Prince John causes some trouble for Team Castle, and it's going to be a loooong weekend. I don't own anything. Some Guy/Marian/Allan Ridicfic set sometime before 2x10 "Walkabout." Complete.
1. Chapter 1

WEEKEND AT VASEY'S

A RH comedic farce

by Elfrieda

Chapter One

_Bollocks_. Guy really wished he could be spending a nice quiet evening at Locksley; maybe Marian would even pop in for another visit, and maybe this time they could even _both_ be topless. These and other pleasant thoughts were interrupted just then by the Sheriff, who was barking yet another order at him from across the table.

"More wine! Yes, that's the stuff! I want to celebrate tonight!" Vasey lifted his cup and waited for Guy to refill it from the bronze pitcher at his elbow.

"Here you are, my lord," said Guy in as civil a tone as he could muster as he refilled the Sheriff's goblet. "Though I don't know why you're so cheerful. It's not like it was King Richard who died."

"Oh, happy thought, indeed, Gisborne, happy thought! But a dead Archbishop is still a very good thing, especially when I can seize all his property, and maybe try on some of his fancy going-to-church clothes, too. What do you say, eh, Gisborne? How would I look with one of those pointy hats with the gold trim?"

Guy, trying to suppress this mental image, poured himself another cup of wine. This was going to be a very long night. Then, despite himself, he pictured the Sheriff dressed as the Pope, grinningly granting dispensations with a missing tooth. Then he thought about Marian topless again, and he gulped down the wine.

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After about an hour of this forced revelry, the Sheriff was totally soused, and Guy was getting a good buzz on, himself. He was hoping Vasey would pass out soon so that he could go to bed and be alone with his very impure thoughts of Marian and possibly Allan if she was into that kind of thing. Maybe.

The Sheriff, however, was not yet ready to pass out, but rather was starting to reach the "let's get naked and dance on the tables" stage of drunkenness. Fortunately, he was no longer coordinated enough to be able to remove his heavy robes, which were so necessary on a frosty night like this one, so Guy was spared that, at least. However, he was just agile enough to stand up and wobble over to the fireplace and pick up the poker. Vasey waved the object around like a papal scepter, if the Pope were a raging alcoholic. "Gisborne! Don't . . . you want to . . . resheive my holy blesssshing?"

Guy stood up, fearing that the Sheriff would set himself on fire and then he'd have to forget about any chance of "being alone with his thoughts" that night. He tried to coax the drunken little man into putting down the poker. "My lord, you will do yourself harm if you continue in this way – "

"Enough of your insholensh, Ghhhiizzy!" The Sheriff made a half-playful swing a his master-at-arms. "Kneel before meee . . ." Luckily for Guy, Vasey took a step forward and stumbled, falling to the floor in a fit of what can only be described as girly giggles. If the aforementioned girls were raging alcoholics, that is.

Guy helped the Sheriff to his unsteady feet, then walked him over to his bed, then tucked him in, while the Sheriff tried to convince Guy to read him a bedtime story. "Jusshhht one shhhtorry . . . Then I'll go . . . to . . . shhhleeep." Guy was just trying to remember a particularly funny one about a peasant who sets himself on fire, then burns down the entire village, all except the sheep, who . . . oh, never mind, it's not important, let's just say it doesn't end well for the sheep, either, okay? Anyway, Guy was trying to remember the ending to the story when he became aware that Vasey had finally fallen asleep.

"Now for some sexy alone time," he mumbled in his throatiest baritone. He put out the torches, except for the one he carried with him, and went to his own bedroom, thinking about his lady love, Marian. And Allan, if she was into that kind of thing. Maybe. Probably.

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Guy was just about to finish his . . . thoughts, when he was prematurely cut off from them by a terrific uproar coming from the hallway outside. He groaned in frustration, threw on a tunic and some very uncomfortable leather trousers, since those were the only clothes he owned, grabbed his sword, and then rushed outside to find out what was making all the racket.

Upon opening the door, he recognized the Sheriff's voice and the strong smell of alcohol. Vasey had evidently gotten back out of bed and started the party back up again. He was wearing a pair of trousers on his head, evidently in lieu of the Archbishop's hat, and was just finishing up performing a lovely wedding ceremony between a tapestry and a wall sconce. "You may kisshh the bride," he proclaimed loudly, then wiped away a tear.

At that moment, Marian came out of her chambers, pulling on a heavy robe over her thin nightgown. "What is going on? Are we being invaded? Is Robin Hood here?" Guy scowled at the mention of his most hated enemy. (Besides the Nightwatchman, of course – he really hated that villain, and besides, why did his costume allow for an ample bosom and womanly hips? It made no sense. Yeah, he couldn't stand that guy, or Robin Hood, either.)

"Go back to bed, Marian; I have this under control," he muttered, capturing a mental image for later of her in her nightgown, in case he ever got to go back to bed tonight and finish thinking his thoughts.

"Want me to do you, too? I can . . . lovely sheremony . . . Jusht give me thhhhe ring . . ." the Sheriff said in a very loud voice that echoed through the corridor.

"What? We aren't getting married!" Marian protested.

"You don't have to sound so averse to the idea!" shouted Guy, wondering why he bothered to be annoyed when he knew very well that the special wedding vows, which he had written for just such an occasion, were inconveniently tucked away in a box at Locksley.

"I do not want to be married in my nightclothes by a drunken priest!"

"Archbishop!" corrected the Sheriff, who was right then "sprinkling" the tapestry with something that was most definitely not holy water.

"Archbishop, then!" cried Marian passionately. "I feel as though you don't even know me at all."

"Marian . . ." grumbled Guy forcefully, "go back to your room!"

"How can I marry you if I'm forced to go back to my room?" she yelled.

"Just go! I'll deal with you later," Guy shouted, his patience at an end.

Allan chose this moment to peek out from behind his bedroom door. "What's happening? The Final Day o' Judgment an' all that? 'Cause if it is, I'm going back to sleep. Tell Jesus to wake me when he's done with all the other poor slobs, yeah?"

"Allan! Come over here now and help me with the Sheriff!" Guy yelled.

Marian stood in the hallway, looking anxious and wondering whether she would have time to put on her Nightwatchman costume, although she wasn't sure why, except that for some reason, being around Guy always made her want to put on some leather outfit with a mask.

Unfortunately, nobody was looking at the Sheriff, and just as he was about to give the best part of his sermon, too (oh, right, he was giving a sermon now).

"Ye ssshall, in the Final Daaay of Judgment . . . when Shaaatan callssh you home to resssht . . . and the lion shhhall lie down with the . . . other lion . . . and . . . oh, sod it . . ." Taking a moment to recollect his thoughts on this solemn topic, he took a step backwards and lost his balance, his robes flew open, thus engraving an image the other three in the hallway would never be able to erase from their memories, now matter how much bad tavern wine they consumed, and he tumbled backwards down the staircase.

Guy, Allan and Marian ran after him, racing down the steps. Guy brought the torch closer to where the Sheriff now lay, sprawled about ten steps from the top of the staircase, the trousers still on his head, but with a little bit of blood trickling down from the crotch. "My lord! Are you all right?" Guy shouted, pulling him into a sitting position and patting his cheeks, expecting the Sheriff make some lewd joke about the way that Guy was now standing straddled over him. No such jest came, however; the Sheriff of Nottingham was dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"He can't be dead!"

"Well, but he is, in't he? I mean, not bein' funny, but – "

"Will you two shut up?" Guy yelled, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "The Sheriff is dead. Do you either of you know what this means?"

"He's not the Archbishop anymore?" guessed Marian.

"He never was an Archbishop! He had an Archbishop killed, there's a difference."

"Then why was he wearing the Archbishop's hat?" Marian asked skeptically.

"Wearing a pair of trousers on your head doesn't make you an Archbishop. If it does, my old dad must be the bleedin' Pope!" Allan chimed in helpfully.

"Does this mean . . . you don't want to marry me?" Marian asked, getting back to the original question.

"No," Guy hissed, "it means that Nottingham is in danger of being destroyed if Prince John's men find out about this."

Marian opened her eyes wide, trying to look like she didn't know what Guy was talking about, then remembered that he had already told her about it last week. Keeping track of when to look innocent and virginal and when to look informed and virginal was beginning to give her a migraine.

"Yes, we can't let that happen. Maybe the Nightwatchman will save us!" Marian beamed at the idea.

"The Nightwatchman? Why would he help us?" Guy asked, puzzled.

"Because maybe sometimes she – I mean _he_ – just wants to get dressed up in a cape and mask and help people! Is that so absurd?" Marian asked, trying to hide her irritation. Really, how could Guy expect their (second) cancelled forced marriage to work if he wasn't going to be supportive of her secret identity? Honestly!

"Forget the Nightwatchman. I say we get everybody out of here, right now." Allan's comment drew a glare from Marian.

Guy replied, "Maybe we won't have to. Maybe I can explain to Prince John . . ." At that moment, a guard opened the door at the bottom of the staircase and started walking up toward where Vasey lay, now with more than one tooth missing.

Guy yelled down, "You there! Stay where you are! And then . . . go . . . saddle my horse!" He didn't know what good having his horse saddled would do, but it always sounded good when he couldn't think of anything else to yell. Besides, it didn't matter as long as it got the guard out of the way.

"We can't leave him out here," Guy whisper-shouted, once the guard was gone. "We've got to take him up to his bedroom. Then I'll decide what to do about Prince John's men."

"_You'll_ decide?" Marian asked, annoyed. She was going to make him pay for that later in her special fantasy in which Guy and Robin and the Nightwatchman fought each other over her while she watched. "What about Allan and me? We're all in this together now."

Guy brooded for a few moments, then looked pleased that she wanted to be with him. "Fine, grab a leg."

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The trio had managed to get Vasey's body back into his bedroom and tucked him under the covers. Guy awkwardly patted his former boss's forehead, which was now devoid of trousers, and closed the dead man's eyes in the same motion.

"Should we maybe say somethin'?" Allan suggested, not sure what the protocol was for such occasions.

"You mean, like a prayer?" Marian asked, touched by Allan's sensitivity. "I'm sure the Nightwatchman would . . ."

"No. Vasey was hardly the religious type," Guy argued, "well, except towards the end, of course." They all paused for a moment to remember the Sheriff's last moments as he was "blessing" the union of the tapestry and the wall sconce.

"Yep. You're right."

"No point making a fuss."

"He wouldn't have liked it."

"Right, then."

"Let's go."

And with that, they all turned around quickly and walked out, shutting the door on the body. They were startled to see the guard from earlier standing right outside the door. He looked deferentially at Guy. "I saddled your horse, my lord. But I wanted to tell you that a representative of Prince John is here to see the Sheriff. Is it all right if I send him in?"

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Guy, Marian and Allan looked at each other. Then they looked back at the guard. Then they looked at each other again. This went on for some time, until the guard cleared his throat and hinted, "My lord?"

"What?" Guy shouted.

"Prince . . . John's . . . representative?" the guard timidly reminded him, by now very confused.

"What, he's still here?" Guy asked, irritated.

"Uh, yes, my lord, I believe he intends to stay until he's seen the Sheriff."

"Well, he can't. The Sheriff's taken ill." Guy smiled to himself at this stroke of cleverness. Unfortunately, he smiled to the guard, too, which confused the poor man even more.

"I'm afraid . . ." he gulped, ". . . he's insisting. He must see the Sheriff immediately."

Guy's jaw twitched. "Send him to my chambers. And send up a barrel of the Sheriff's strongest wine."

The guard, wishing he hadn't agreed to switch shifts with his brother-in-law Percival, who was being bled to cure his anemia, nodded at Guy and hurried back to the main hall where Prince John's man was waiting.

Guy turned back and looked at Marian, who looked at Allan, who looked back at Guy. Then Guy looked at him, and he looked at Marian, and then Marian looked at the wall sconce. "Oops."

"What are we gonna do, then? Prince John's man isn't going away without seein' the Sheriff," said Allan.

"I know that, that's why I ordered the wine!" Guy yelled for no good reason, as Allan was standing right next to him.

Allan winced, then asked, "But what's that gonna do?"

"I don't know, it always works in the pantomimes!" Guy growled.

Marian's mind had been working while they were speaking, and now she had an idea. "Guy, you go and meet with Prince John's man. Stall him as much as possible, ply him with wine . . ." Guy customary scowl changed to a smile; she really liked his idea! "Give us about ten minutes, then bring him into the Sheriff's bedroom."

"What?" Guy and Allan exclaimed in unison.

"You'll see." Marian's eyes sparkled. She enjoyed a challenge.

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Phillip, cousin to Prince John's agent, Jasper, was sitting at a table in Sir Guy's chambers. He was a young man eager to prove himself, so when his cousin asked him to do a job for him in Nottinghamshire on the Prince's behalf, he had agreed enthusiastically. He was hoping to get a cushy position in Devonshire. He had heard many stories about the loose women there, maids who would show a bit of ankle after just one glass of ale. And the cheese was supposed to be delightful. Phillip adored cheese, especially the kind with the holes in it. He often wondered how they got the holes in there. Life was full of fascinating mysteries for Phillip.

Guy poured another glass of wine for the man sitting across from him and studied him warily. Phillip was tall, lanky, with sandy-colored hair and a round face that contrasted comically with his thin frame. He was staring intently at his reflection in his spoon.

"I'm up-side down!"

"I'm very pleased for you, Sir Phillip, but may I ask what brings you here?"

"Normally my cousin Jasper meets with the Sheriff once a month, but this time he sent me in his stead. Wasn't feeling well. Poor fellow can't hold his dairy, not like me. I've got a stomach like a griffin, I have. And heaps of brains. Yes, I'm the most intel- . . . intel- . . . I'm the smartest man in my family!" Guy wondered what Jasper must be like. "But Prince John gave the job to Jasper because . . . what did he say . . . ? I'm incontinent. No, that's not right . . . Incorporate? No . . ." This little soliloquy went on for several minutes.

"Incompetent?" Guy finally suggested.

"No, that's not it . . . Ah, well, whatever it was, it meant that Prince John is saving me for a _very_ _important_ _mission_." Phillip glowed. "At least, that's what my mum told me."

"More cheddar, Sir Phillip?" Guy offered, astonished at the man's seemingly endless capacity for dairy products.

After ten minutes had finally passed, Guy told Phillip that the Sheriff would see him now, and he helped the inebriated and cheese-stuffed man to his feet, wondering whether these last ten cheddary minutes were to be his last. He hadn't even had time to finish his thoughts of Marian. And possibly . . . _no, she would never go for it. Would she?_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Marian was starting to think perhaps this was more of a challenge than she had imagined. The Sheriff's body was getting harder and harder to move, and the increasingly noxious odor didn't help, either. "Grab his arm, twist it round so . . . no, like this . . ."

"I can't move it any more than that. Bleedin' things gonna snap off!"

"No, it won't! Just . . . oh, let me do it." She bent the dead Sheriff's arm into what she hoped was a more life-like pose. "That's better," she said, sighing with relief. Marian had had no idea the Sheriff would be nearly as much trouble dead as he was alive.

The dead man's eyes were once again popped open, giving him an almost life-like appearance. The effect was very disturbing, but anyone who had known Vasey in life would be suspicious if he looked otherwise. Next to him on his nightstand, Marian had set out a pitcher of wine, which she had only filled one-third of the way to make it seem as though it had already been drained, and next to it stood a bowl containing some apples and cheese. His right arm seemed to be grasping a goblet of wine, the contents of which were spilled from his mouth down to his robe. There was no need to make the Sheriff smell like spirits, and she thought that the fact that he reeked of urine would only make the tableau more believable.

"Good, he's all ready."

"Marian, do you really think we should be doin' this? I mean, it dudn't seem quite . . . holy, ya know wha' I mean?"

The good-hearted Lady Marian, thinking only of the people of Nottingham and their welfare, replied, "Don't be a ninny, Allan. We're doing this! Besides, Guy will be here with Prince John's man any minute."

"Fine, but I dunno how I'm going to explain this to the priest at my next confession."

"Don't be absurd! The concept of sin is social construct, a part of the patriarchal authority's attempt to curtail subversive and revolutionary behavior by the proletariat. You don't want to be a tool of the patriarchy, do you, Allan?" Marian looked at him as at a naughty schoolboy.

"'Course not!" Allan had no idea what Marian was talking about, but he wasn't about to let her call him a tool.

"Good. Now put out that torch over there. The poor lighting in this place is going to be to our advantage."

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Guy led Phillip out of his chambers and escorted him to the door of the Sheriff's bedroom. He felt a sensation in his gut like a stone being dropped. There was no way this was going to end well. Why not just admit what had happened and beg for mercy? Then he thought of Marian, and took courage. Maybe if she thought they were all going to die together, she would be more open to a _certain thing_ he'd been wanting to try . . . He was determined to follow through with the plan, in the hopes that, even though he was going to die, he would at least have a real shot with Marian, who would be feeling guilty and vulnerable for getting their arses killed.

Guy knocked on the door, and Marian opened it, letting the two men in. Allan was nowhere to be seen, except for a rather large pair of black boots that were just barely visible underneath the heavy curtain beside the Sheriff's bed. Neither Guy nor Phillip noticed this, however; the latter because he was in a liquor-and-lactose-induced stupor, and the former because the sight of his dead former master, lying in his bed and holding a goblet of wine, was distracting him. _What the devil was Marian thinking, leaving the body on ghastly display like that? Prince John would torture them all to death for sure now._ Guy hoped that he would at least be spared the dreaded "Feather of Fear," in which the hapless victim was tormented mercilessly by the strident application of a feather to the bottom of his feet. Guy could bear anything but tickling!

These thoughts were interrupted when Marian, who by now had moved closer to the curtain to hide Allan's enormous feet, began to explain to Phillip about the Sheriff's "condition." "My lord, the Sheriff is feeling unwell today . . ."

An exaggerated groan seemed to come from the Sheriff's lips. Guy smirked. His investment in Allan's ventriloquism class at "þe Olde Lerninge Annex ffor Reformed Owtlauues" had actually paid off! And to think the Sheriff had made fun of him for wanting to give the boy a good education.

Phillip mustered up all the stateliness that his position required, or rather, he attempted to, then let out a loud belch. "Excuse me. Ahem. I am sorry, Sheriff *hic* that my coushin Jashhper wassss not able to be heeeeere," he began, then paused for effect, "but I, Sir Phhhhhillip of Dunghill, have come *hic* in hisss ssshhtead. And what have we heeere . . ." He turned away from the Sheriff and faced the lady.

Marian tried to look suitably impressed, then realized that the man wasn't looking at her face at all. He was looking at her two golden luscious, round mounds that seemed to be taunting him with their fresh, delicate sheen. He eyed them hungrily.

"My lord . . ." Guy nudged Phillip testily. Did the man have no sense of propriety at all?

"I *hic* shorrry . . . They're jussht so *hic* lovely . . ."

Guy rolled his eyes in exasperation, then snapped, "Oh, for God's sake, Marian, just give him what he wants!"

Marian hurried nervously over to Phillip, nearly letting the succulent lumps spill out before Phillip could put his clammy hands on them. "Here you are, my lord."

Phillip eagerly snatched at tasty morsels, fearful that the careless young maiden would let them fall on the floor. "Oooohhhhh, yessss . . . Provolone!"

Marian stepped away in disgust as Phillip devoured the hunks of cheese. She and Guy exchanged a smoldering, yet uncertain look as they tried to remember whether they were enemies or not. They both remembered that they were, in fact, working together on this, so Marian broke off the gaze with a slight smile, then primly pursed her lips. Guy continued to watch her lustfully as she moved surreptitiously over to the Sheriff and yanked his arm to give it a new position.

"Ouch!" yelled Allan from behind the curtain, getting a little too much into character. "I mean, uh . . ."

Marian stomped on his toe to shush him. "Ouch!" She was about to do it again, thinking irritatedly that the Nightwatchman would never be such an oaf. The Nightwatchman was _amazing_. All those times he got stabbed by Sir Guy were just rotten luck, that's all.

Just then, though, Phillip looked up, licking the morsels of Provolone from his scant moustache. "I was supposed *hic* to do something . . . Now what wassh it? Oh, yessh . . ." He pulled out a rather squashed roll of parchment from inside his tunic and began to unroll it. "The Shhheriffff . . . hassh to put *burp* hish sheal on thish form and then I get to *hic* take it to . . . to . . ."

"Prince John?" Guy suggested.

"No . . ."

"Jasper?" Guy asked.

"No . . . I mean, yesnomaybeidontknow."

"What?"

"Yesh."

"Yes what?"

"Prinsh John."

"Marian!" Guy nearly stunned himself with the decibel level of his booming voice. "Get Sir Phillip some more cheese, at once! And a shiny spoon!" Phillip's eyes lit up, at least relatively. They looked a bit less glassy, anyway.

Marian's head began to throb. _Why did Guy insist on bellowing out his orders? And why was he telling her what to do? And what if there was no more cheese?_

"Fine, I'll get it," she capitulated, thinking of ways to get her revenge, and all of them involving a certain caped costume that was only a few short steps away, tucked between her copy of _XVII Magazine _and a tight, shiny black gown from her brief and ill-considered "Gothic" phase. _She would fight the urge to dress up, she would . . ._

Meanwhile, Guy was trying to coax Phillip away from the Sheriff. "Sir Phillip, won't you please sit down? The Sheriff would like you to sit down, wouldn't he?" Guy asked, with an inflection that was aimed at the big heavy curtain.

"Would I? Oh, that'd be fantastic," Allan improvised. "I mean . . . do I want you to sit down?" he amended, "A clue? Yes!"

Phillip suddenly plopped down on the floor, making himself comfortable on the deer-skin rug. He had always prided himself on following orders promptly. If he behaved himself, maybe the Sheriff would tell Prince John just how _incontinent_ he was! He could almost taste that promotion. That and the bits of cheese that were still clinging to his moustache.

"Uhh, er, Sir Phillip, about this parchment . . ." Guy began uneasily.

"It has squiggly lines on it! *hic* Shee?" Phillip blurted out, holding up the document proudly.

"Yes, they're very pretty lines. Now, what was that about the seal?"

"The Prince's seal . . . has to *hic* be on it."

"You mean the Sheriff's."

"No."

"Ye-es."

"Ye-es," Phillip mocked, giggling.

The Sheriff's odiferous corpse hissed, "Get the seal, Giz!"

"I don't know where it is!" Guy whisper-shouted back. Luckily, Phillip was busy fluffing up the deer's tail the wrong way and didn't hear.

"It's got 'a be here somewhere, dunnit?" the corpse whispered in reply.

"Yes, but . . ." then Guy remembered the Sheriff's top secret private locked desk drawer. "I'll just fetch the seal for you, my lord," he said in a super-obvious tone that still failed to signal any warning bells for Phillip. He walked over to it, then looked inside the skull that the Sheriff always kept on top of the writing desk. There was the key!

Guy quickly unlocked the top secret private locked desk drawer, expecting to find the seal lying amongst important documents and such. Instead he found some rather crude but rather clever drawings of himself dressed as a rather scantily-clad _jongleur_, apparently done by the Sheriff's own hand, and labeled "Ser Guye, mi Best Mayte. A cloo? No!" Guy smiled to himself, delighted that the Sheriff had thought about him in his spare time. Next to the drawings he found a scrawled note in a nearly illegible hand:

_Deerist gizzy,_

_Iff ur reeding tihs, that meens u problably __merduerd__mirdrd__maerdert__ killd me so itz sayfe to tell yiou taht i kiled Your faimily & u wil dye Soon to becawse i hid mye seel wher u will Nevar fynd itte ha ha ha_

_and mariyan will never goe ffor itt i thynck u no wot i meene._

_luv_

_vasye_

Guy dropped the note in horror. Surely the Sheriff couldn't have meant what he wrote. Guy looked up at where the Sheriff lay, his beady eyes glinting, and it almost seemed like the man was still mocking him now. _No, it must be true._ Even the Sheriff didn't believe that Marian would be into . . . that certain thing! Plus, the blackguard had killed Guy's family and also put him into mortal peril, all because of that stupid Archbishop . . . Guy mentally cursed all archbishops, bishops, friars and monks everywhere.

_Where was the seal? And would Marian really never open her . . . heart . . . to him?_


	4. Chapter 4

So sorry it's taken me this long to update. I've been working on a Xena episode for the Shipper Virtual Seasons (.com/), so I've been focusing mostly on that, but now I hope to be able to update more often, because I care about all my devoted readers (all four of you)! Seriously, though, thanks to those of you who have read and posted reviews!

Will Guy be able to find the Sheriff's seal and save Nottingham? How long will Allan be able to keep up the ventriloquist act? Will Marian be able to resist the urge to don kinky outfits in front of Prince John's representative? And will Phillip be able to digest all that cheese?

Find out in this installment of "Weekend at Vaseys" (or maybe not, don't want to give away spoilers)!

Chapter Four

Marian cursed as she tripped while carrying the tray of cheese and the highly-polished spoon up the slippery stairs of the castle. Every time she passed a castle guard, she held her breath for fear that he would somehow be able to read on her face what had happened. She felt vulnerable, but she knew of one thing that could fix that . . . She smiled to herself as she slipped into her own chambers. _Just a little detour . . ._

Back in the Sheriff's quarters, Allan was starting to sweat, partly because of nerves, and partly because of the stuffy velvet tapestry that was cutting off the air circulation. He hoped Guy would find the seal soon so they could end this little interview between Phillip and the remains of Vasey and he could finally get some breakfast.

Guy, thankful and astounded that Phillip hadn't already had them all seized and hanged, tried to search the Sheriff's quarters without making it look too obvious that he had no idea where to look. He peeked into a tall, hideously-decorated wardrobe, then looked back over his shoulder. "Uhh, My lord Sheriff, the seal doesn't seem to be where you, um, normally keep it . . . I'll just . . . look in here . . ."

Allan's imitation of the Sheriff, accompanied by a loud stomach rumble, sounded through the curtains: "I must've left it somewhere! Where would I hide it if I were – I mean, I am – I mean, where did I put it?" Allan peered through the curtains at Phillip, and he gulped to see his facial expression that indicated either suspicion or incontinence. Possibly both. "Hurry up, Giz!"

"I'm trying!" Gisborne pulled out a pair of wrist irons, then a chain, then a whip, and finally a stick with feathers attached, probably some kind of cleaning device – he hoped. _Nothing_.

Phillip piped up, "Something wrong? I hate it when I lose things. I lose things a lot. Me mum says that I'd lose me own head if it wasn't stuck up me bum. I wonder what that means? My head wouldn't fit up there, I've tried!"

Phillip's helpful musings surprisingly did nothing to ease Guy's fears as he put aside the feather stick, then distastefully pulled out a very short black and white peasant woman's dress cut in the French style. Guy quickly put the items back in the wardrobe, then wiped his hands on his trousers. "It's not in your wardrobe, my lord. Perhaps you dropped it somewhere else in the castle. I'll – go and look for it."

Phillip, now clear-headed enough to think of his possible promotion, said, "Yes, brilliant! I'd like a *hic* word with the Sh-sheriff alone, if you don't mind."

Guy stiffened, and not in a sexy fun way, and so did Allan on the other side of the curtain. "Ahem – Sir Phillip, I don't think that's the best – "

"Oh, please, I'd love a tour of Nottingburg! We can talk about taxes and peasants while we ride our horsies." Phillip looked pleadingly at the Sheriff, whose glassy-eyes stared back in his general direction.

The "Sheriff" was about to reply when the door burst open, and all the men's eyes opened wide at the sight that met them (except for the Sheriff's, obviously, because, you know . . .). Guy gulped. _Marian. In a curly blonde wig, a low-cut white dress with a tightly-laced blue corset with yellow ribbons. Holding a shepherd's crook. _ He felt his throat going dry.

Marian, with the stately air and grace of a queen, ignored their incredulous gazes (and the Sheriff's dead-eyed stare) and walked over to where Phillip was now standing, his attention fixed fully on her.

"My lady, you – you – you look –"

"Cheese?" she interrupted his stammering, shoving the tray under his nose.

"Oh, n-no – I couldn't eat *burp* another bite . . . I – " Phillip's eyes wandered down from her eyes and settled around the lacy bits that barely covered her cleavage.

_Bloody brilliant. I went to all this trouble, and now he doesn't even want any cheese? If the Nightwatchman were here . . ._ Marian sighed. "Very well, my lord. In that case, I'll just – " She moved as if to leave the room again, but Phillip grasped her arm.

"I'm going on a tour of Notsingdon with the Sheriff. We're going to ride our horsies! I'd really love it if you came along . . . wearing that outfit."

Guy interrupted, grasping Marian's other arm, nearly turning the scene into a game of tug-of-war between him and Sir Phillip, only with a rather theatrical-looking shepherdess in place of the customary rope.

Luckily, Phillip chose that moment to forget what was happening, and he dropped Marian's arm and sauntered over to the window. "Look, a birdie! I quite like birds. They're so cheerful. And they must be very smart, because they know how to fly. I can't fly, more's the pity."

Ignoring him, Guy growled in Marian's ear (sending quite a thrill down her spine, if truth be told), "May I have a word with you, Lady Bo Peep?"

"Guy, it's not supposed to be 'Lady' Bo Peep. I'm a peasant, obviously."

"You can't be a peasant."

"Why not?" she asked indignantly.

"You're supposed to be a shepherdess, but you haven't got a tan, not even a little. And I'm supposed to believe you're not a high-born lady?"

"Oh – you don't understand me at all!" Marian left the room in a huff, Guy followed her out, wagging his tail behind him. Or, at least, it would have been funny if he had.

Guy closed the door to the Sheriff's room, leaving poor Allan stuck behind the stifling drapes and Phillip admiring the nice birdies.

"What do you think you're doing? I asked you to bring Phillip some cheese, not dress up like – like – " his eyes wandered over her provocative outfit, "that."

Marian replied in a hurt tone, "Don't you like it? I've never had a chance to wear it. I happen to think I look amazing."

Guy tried to focus on the situation at hand and not on a particular fantasy of his that was being enhanced by this rather spectacular costume of Marian's. _Now if Allan would only be willing to dress like a sheep, that would really be something._ He cleared his throat. "That is not the point. This is hardly helpful. Now you've got Phillip wanting to take you out for horsie rides with the Sheriff!"

"Is that what this is about? You're jealous of Phillip?"

"No! I mean, should I be?"

"Guy!" She snapped her fingers at him, indicating that he should try to focus. "I can't go for a ride with him, remember the Sheriff? And the way that he is, shall we say, no longer animate?"

"Yes, that is going to be a problem. And I still haven't found the seal. And I think Allan may be unconscious."

Marian's eyes shone under her cumbersome wig, indicating that she had a new plan. "I think we can make it work, Guy. You can look for the seal while Phillip, the – Sheriff – and I take a tour of Nottingshire. Nottingham. Damn it, now he's got me saying it wrong!"

Guy, shocked by this unmaidenly outburst of foul language, but also rather turned on by it, grabbed her by the arm, pulling her close to him.

Marian waited for him to speak. After a few seconds of silence, she prompted him. "What?"

He jerked her arm again, pulling her even closer, then gutterally whispered in her ear, "Marian . . . I . . ."

"What?" She was beginning to lose patience, and her outfit was beginning to chafe.

"You know that there is a different side to me . . . a side that enjoys nice, pleasant things, like –"

"Like killing peasants?" Marian asked testily, then fluttered her eyelashes under his burning gaze.

"Well, I do do that sometimes, but that's not what I meant. I like . . . I like kittens." Marian's eyebrows rose. "And daffodils." Marian's eyebrows rose even higher. "And . . . and . . . scrapbooking."

Marian knew that this was something Guy had never shared with anyone before in his life, which made her feel even guiltier for keeping her identity as the Nightwatchman a secret from him. Suddenly, the thought of the two of them rescuing kittens side-by-side came into her mind, unbidden. _Think of Robin. Think of Robin._

Guy sensed her hesitation, so he yanked her arm one more time. "Never mind."

"Guy, now isn't the time – we have to think of the plan. I'm going to need some rope and a harness . . ."

"I'm intrigued."

The two of them walked down the stairs, Marian rubbing her sore arm, and Guy thinking about a few somewhat unconventional uses they could make of the shepherd's crook. And Allan, too, if she was into it.

************************************************************

Five minutes later, Marian reappeared, still in her tarty shepherdess costume, and, much to Allan's relief, she led Phillip outside with her. "Please, Sir Phillip, won't you take a turn with me about the, um, dining room, while the Sheriff prepares the horses? It's so refreshing." She fluttered her eyelashes at him, tapping him on the nose with her crook, and he followed her sheepishly.

As soon as they were out the door, Allan fell through the drapes and collapsed on the floor. "Bloody hell. Giz had better give me a raise after all this."

A minute later, Allan's employer himself stealthily opened the door and hurried over to Allan. "Wake up, you lazy sot! You're needed elsewhere."

Allan warily opened on eyelid and tried to focus on Guy's face. "You could say 'please.'"

"What?" Guy asked, as if he'd proposed some kind of bizarre fantasy role play, and not a simple word of kindness.

"'Please.' It's a word. People say it when they wanna be nice."

"I know what it means!" Guy snapped.

There was a moment of silence, then, "Well?" Allan looked at him expectantly.

"Well, what?"

"Are you gonna say it, or not?"

"Probably not."

"Okay, then." Guy grabbed Allan's arm and helped him to his feet. Allan looked a bit woozy standing there, so Guy picked up the Sheriff's wine goblet and handed it to him, and Allan drank it down in one gulp. Then he realized where the wine came from.

"Yeechh! That was the dead Sheriff's, wa'n't it?" Allan made a gagging sound.

"As if that ever stopped you before. Now let's get to work!" Guy slapped the ex-outlaw on the back and pushed him toward the bed. "Help me get him downstairs."

Allan looked doubtful. "I'm gonna need some compensation for this. And I think the Sheriff just moved."

"No, he didn't. Don't be such a superstitious fool. Can't you see he's stone dead?"

"That's not helpin'. I'm gonna want something, a manor, maybe, and a new outfit. One like yours, maybe." He nodded at Guy's neck-to-toe black leather garb.

"Oh, don't worry, you will be compensated. Amply," Guy replied darkly, hoisting the Sheriff's surprisingly heavy corpse on one side. Allan reached around the malodorous remains and lifted on the other side, and the two men shuffled out the door with their cargo.

"Can't I at least get somethin' to eat?" Allan intoned, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the corridor.

_Coming up next in "Weekend at Vasey's":_

_Vasey continues to decompose. Oh, and Robin Hood and his not-so-merry men and woman make an appearance. Marian wears more kinky outfits, and Guy continues to wonder if she'll ever be his. And maybe Allan, too._


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter is rated M for a little bit of language and some (mild) sexual content.

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Robin Hood BBC or the characters. Phillip is all mine, though (lucky me!).

Author's note:

I want to thank everyone who has commented and reviewed the story so far. I love hearing back from all of you. I even took some inspiration for this next chapter from some of the comments, so thank you again for that. This chapter has a bit more plot, so let me say I'm sorry for that, but I hope you enjoy it, anyway.

In this chapter:

Will Marian and Allan be able to keep the Sheriff's death secret during Phillip's horsie ride? Will Team Castle be able to find Vasey's seal to save Nottingham from Prince John's army? And will Guy ever get to finish thinking his thoughts?

Chapter Five

"It's not gonna work. We'll all be hanged."

"Oh, shush, Allan! Don't be such a coward. We're doing this for the people of Nottingham!" Marian said while looking at Gisborne's manservant with utter disdain, then tied a knot around a stiff human leg that was straddling a horse.

"What good will it do them when Sir Falls-on-his-head-a-lot finds out the Sheriff's dead, and we've been keepin' it a secret? They'll be killed, you'll be killed, Giz'll be killed, and what's worst, _I'll_ be killed. So I fail to see what good we're doin' here."

"Nonsense! This is going to work, I promise. And if something does go wrong, then perhaps the Nightwatchman will have to make an appearance, and then – "

Allan, an apt pupil of his master Guy, grabbed Marian's arm. "Don't even think about - " Unfortunately for him, he was also much smaller than his master, so Marian felt no qualms about kicking him in the shin.

"Owww! Hey, I'm only tryin' get you to see reason here."

"It's too late to argue now, Allan! Just grab that rope and make sure it's secure. We can't risk having the Sheriff fall off his horse." Vasey's mount, Iscariot, looked back at them and seemed to roll his eyes. Marian reached up to pet him, thinking perhaps he was feeling nervous about carrying the corpse of his master, but she shrank back in disgust when the animal flashed its missing tooth at her. "Did – did the Sheriff have Iscariot's tooth pulled to match his own?"

Allan shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe that's the reason he bought him."

"Fantastic." Marian sighed, wishing she hadn't chosen this particular day to wear her tarty shepherdess costume. The corset was squeezing the breath out of her, and the wig was bound to fly off during the ride. _At least my cleavage looks amazing_. _ Too bad Guy – er, Robin – isn't here to see it._

She adjusted the Sheriff's oversized robe so that it covered the ropes and the wooden supports that were keeping the body upright. Well, semi-upright, anyway. She also pulled the large hood down to cover most of his face.

"There, all ready. Go and tell Sir Falls – I mean, Sir Phillip – that we're ready for him."

*****************************************************

Meanwhile, back at the castle, Sir Guy of Gisborne was beginning to panic. He'd searched everywhere in the Sheriff's quarters, but had found no clue as to the seal's whereabouts. He'd found some incriminating documents, a heap of animal (he hoped) bones, strange-looking jewelry decorated with skulls, more perverse drawings of himself by the Sheriff, and a couple of souvenir shot glasses from the Holy Land that Guy had thoughtfully brought back for him. _Didn't even take them out of their case_, Guy thought bitterly.

Thinking that perhaps the Sheriff had hidden the seal in some other part of the palace, Guy stepped out into the corridor. He paused for a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He couldn't stop thinking about Marian in her shepherdess costume, especially since she was now out with Allan and Phillip . . . and the Sheriff. _What if she fell in love with Phillip? True, Phillip was a complete imbecile, but then, Marian had fallen for Robin Hood once, so there was no telling what freak turn her affections might take._

Guy looked down both sides of the corridor, and when he saw the door to Marian's room, it brought another twinge to his already tormented brain . . . and other areas. _What if the Sheriff hid the seal in Marian's room? _It was possible . . . unlikely, but possible, and the Sheriff had told him he'd hidden it somewhere he'd never find it . . . _Yes, it was time to search Marian's room. _And if he happened to come across anything personal, like a diary or a lacy undergarment, well, it would all be in the name of helping the good people of Nottingham. Naturally.

***************************************************************

Marian, now riding alongside the Sheriff, Allan, and Phillip, reached down to her bosoms and yanked up on her corset, nearly braining Allan with the shepherd's crook in the process. She was starting to appreciate the comforting feel of her Nightwatchman costume, which she hadn't had time to fetch from her room in the castle, so it seemed any appearances by the masked hero would have to wait. She also wished her costume came with a cape, because it was freezing outside, and the sheer poufy sleeves did little to block the winter air.

Sir Phillip noticed the lady give a little shiver, and, ever the gentleman, he leaned over to her, and said, "Lady Marian, you must be freezing."

"Yes, I am a little, actually," she said, eyeing Phillip's warm cloak.

That nobleman, trying to be courtly, suggested, "Maybe the Sheriff would share his cloak with you. It's big enough, isn't it?"

"No!" Marian shouted, disappointed and alarmed. "I mean, no, thank you, Sir Phillip."

Allan, who was riding a little behind the others, attempted to throw his voice again to impersonate Vasey. "No, I need my cloak . . . Let the leper suffer."

"That's a bit unkind, don't you think, my lord?" Allan asked.

"Not at all, my boy, not at all. She's a sodding idiot, dragging us all out here into the cold on a day like this without even putting on a warm cloak first," the "Sheriff" replied.

Marian looked back at Allan and Vasey incredulously. _No, he wasn't actually pretending to have a conversation with – was he? No. This whole thing was just a bad nightmare. Except for the whole dead Sheriff thing. That was nice. _Marian smiled.

Unfortunately, Phillip thought she was smiling at him, and he smiled back. He cleared his throat, then leaned over to her and whispered, "My lady, how is it that you're not married yet? Surely it's not because you're too old, is it?" The compliment was, admittedly, not a smashing success.

"Uhh . . . no, Sir Phillip, it is by choice. I mean, I was engaged twice; it's not as if I'm some spinster that no man ever wanted, or anything. As a matter of fact, they were – well, one of them was very handsome and well-built, and the other one was, um, very loyal to the king." Marian wondered if that last bit wasn't as great of a compliment as she'd meant it to sound.

The group was just rounding the corner before passing into Locksley village, where the few peasants who were outside stopped their work and stood gaping at the new arrivals, particularly at the strange woman dressed as a pastoral strumpet.

"Ahh, I see. So then, you are not engaged right now, my lady?" Phillip asked, pulling out a hunk of Brie that he had secreted away in his tunic for a mid-morning snack, and taking a bite out of it.

"N-no, not really." Marian strongly regretted leaving the Nightwatchman costume at the castle, since that would have provided a welcome diversion from this line of questioning.

The dead Sheriff cackled, "Nobody wants her! She's got no property, no family, and she has a tendency to put people in situations where they're very likely to be killed."

Allan laughed, then replied, "Yeah, so what if she's got an utterly marvelous pair of . . ." Upon seeing Marian's murderous look, he finished weakly, "eyes. They're, uh, very pretty." Marian hid her smile at Allan's cheekiness. _Why doesn't Robin ever say that about my . . . eyes?_

She shivered again as a single snowflake dropped onto her nose.

**************************

Guy let himself into Marian's room, not taking care to be quiet, since he knew she was going to be gone for at least a couple of hours with Sir Phillip. First he examined her desk, going through all the drawers, but he found nothing of interest, not even a single letter or sketch that might indicate that she was thinking of him in secret. He thought he'd hit upon something when he found a secret compartment that could be accessed by pushing a carefully-hidden latch, but the only thing he found there was a beautifully illuminated copy of Aristophanes' _The Birds_. For some reason, this reminded him of the Sheriff and his pitiful aviary. He would have to ask one of the guards to feed the poor creatures.

He moved on to Marian's trunk, which contained a few pretty gowns, a couple of elaborate costumes, an old _XII Magazine_, a gauzy black sheath, and a couple of hideous cardigans that were, thankfully, quite moth-eaten. He was about to pull them out to see what was at the bottom when his eyes hit upon what he assumed was a self-portrait of Marian riding a horse bareback. Her wavy hair floated behind her, and her head was tossed back in ecstasy, while her bare legs straddled the creature and her hands grasped its mane. Guy knew she loved horses, but he never realized how very, very much she loved them until now.

He wondered if perhaps she also liked kittens. Kittens were so tiny and cuddly and furry, and they never hit you or yelled at you or made you stand and watch while they bathed, not like some people. Not that he would have minded watching Marian taking a bath; that would be quite a different thing.

Guy took the drawing over to the bed, and sprawled out his long frame, his feet hanging over the edge. _Surely there was plenty of time_, he thought. _He could be alone with his "thoughts" for a while, and then he would be able to think much clearer. Yes. Oh, God, yes._

*******************************************************

Most of the villagers of Locksley had stayed indoors to keep warm on this blustery December day, but they began to come out of their homes, or at least peek out of the windows, when they heard the commotion caused by the arrival of the visitors from the castle.

"Please, my lord Sheriff, I don't have any more money to give you! I already paid my taxes eight times this year!" one of the peasants pleaded to the unheeding Vasey. Even more frightened when the Sheriff did not reply, he continued, "Please, sir! We'll be more than happy to give you Kate if you need money! You could sell her at the market. Please, take her!"

Allan, leery of the peasant's close proximity to the not-so-dearly-departed Sheriff, shouted, "Back off! Sheriff's not well today. He doesn't want your stupid girl, or your tax money. He's just out for a ride. Now bugger off!" He held out his arm, his pointing finger indicating that the man would be best advised to depart.

"But, sir, it's really no problem if you want to take Kate away to market. We don't mind, honest!" the man responded.

Marian, worried that he would reach out to touch the Sheriff and cause him to fall, brought her horse around to the man, whom she recognized as Eric, a pig farmer, and a friend of Robin's. She hissed down at him, "Quiet down! All your lives are in danger if you don't."

Eric the pig farmer did not look happy, but he knew that if Lady Marian was telling him to do something, he had better listen, because he knew that she would cut a bitch if she felt like it.

Marian, Allan, Vasey and Phillip proceeded through the village, Allan holding the Sheriff's horse's reins as casually as possible, until they passed by a small stand full of garish pottery that was only painted on the bottom half. There stood young blonde woman sporting a what can best be described as a follicular abortion, a loose braid trailing sadly across her forehead. As they were about to pass her, the girl rushed out into the road. Luckily (or perhaps not), Allan was able to stop Vasey's horse in time to keep it from trampling her.

"What's the matter with you?" Marian asked, trying to be sympathetic, but hoping this bizarrely-coiffed maid would jigger off sooner rather than later.

"Stop! I won't let you do this!" the blonde girl yelled.

"Do what?"

"Whatever it is you're doin' here. It's wrong!"

Marian cocked her head sideways, then smiled knowingly. "You must be Kate."

"How did you know that?" the woman asked, surprised.

"Just a guess."

Kate addressed the Sheriff directly again. "You can't do this! I'm tired of the way you've been treating us, and I won't stand for it. I have to protect me mum and me brother, those two standin' over there." She pointed at a 40-ish blonde lady and a ruddy-haired boy. The blonde woman was shaking her head at Kate and mouthing, "Ixnay!" but Kate didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, that's them. You'd better not do anything to them, do you hear?"

Allan cleared his throat for his best Sheriff impression: "Young lady, am I going to put up with your shenanigans a moment longer? A clue? NO!"

Marian looked quizzically at Allan, mouthing, "Shenanigans?" Allan shrugged at her.

Kate put her hands on her hips and approached the Sheriff more closely, trying to look into his face. Suddenly, her eyes widened. "What's this, then? Can't you see the Sheriff's de-"

Marian, always a quick thinker, reached down with her shepherd's crook and hooked it around Kate and jerked her off the road so fast that she had no time to get the rest of the word out. "Desperately ill! Yes, the sheriff is very sick, and we must be getting on now," Marian breathlessly finished for her.

Phillip, still munching on some cheese, looked at Marian admiringly. He liked the way she handled herself and her shepherd's pole thingy. It was very reassuring, especially when traveling amidst ignorant peasants, which was a new experience for him.

The four of them at last rode out of Locksley village, with Kate hurling curses at them from the pottery stand, until her mother and brother, along with a few other villagers, tackled her to the ground.

Once they were well away from the village and approaching the woods, Marian and Allan noticed that the snowflakes were falling faster than before. "We'd better get back to the castle, don't you think?" Allan asked.

Phillip, who had been enjoying his horsie ride, was not ready to go back yet. "But I wanted to see the rest of Notterdam!"

Marian gave him her best coquettish smile from under her saucy blonde wig, and said, "But Sir Phillip, there will be cheese and wine for lunch, which will surely be ready soon."

Phillip, unsure of what to do, looked at the Sheriff deferentially. Marian kicked Allan with her slippered toe to get him to respond.

"Uhh, yes, I'm tired. Let's go eat. And hungry," Allan grunted in his Vasey voice, then winced at his awkward phrasing.

"Well, all right then. I would like to try some of that Gruyere," Phillip said, a bit of drool glazing his chin.

*****************************************************************

Marian was riding her stallion, squeezing her hips together with every bump and jostle. The horse made many quick leaps into the air, causing her bosoms to bounce with the motion, and bringing a smile to her sensuous lips as they reached the earth again. _Yes, this was a good one._ Guy was starting to insert himself into the daydream, making himself the horse, as he neared the completion of his contemplations. _This drawing is definitely going in my scrapbook_, Guy thought as his eyes rolled back in his head.

Suddenly the door burst open, and two bodies came rushing through it. "Gisborne!"

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. _Guy hastily tried to hide the sketch he'd been . . . admiring . . . and grabbed a pillow to try to cover a certain bodily region that had become exposed during the admiring process.

"What are you doing here?" Robin Hood demanded, as if he'd any right to be there himself.

"Yeah, what are you doing in Lady Marian's chambers?" Much echoed.

Guy stood up, holding the pillow in front of him, and reached for his dagger. "I could ask _you_ that, Hood. But I think I know what you were doing here – getting yourself killed." As he waved the dagger, Guy regretted that this didn't seem as threatening coming from someone holding an embroidered cushion in front of his groin. _Damn it._

"What's the matter Gisborne? From the look of it, you must be happy to see me!" Robin smirked at the tall, dark man in front of him.

"Wait, what do you mean by that?" Much asked.

Robin rolled his eyes. "It's a joke, Much. Honestly, I don't know why I even keep you around!"

"Master, you don't mean that!" Much cried, hurt.

"Yes, I do! I should have sold you in the Holy Land like that sultan wanted me to."

"Sold me? To a sultan? You – you couldn't do that, could you?" Much's lower lip began to quiver.

Robin, as the _pièce de résistance _of his passive-aggressive sport, reached out and put a warm hand on Much's shoulder. "Of course not. I need you. For cooking, mostly."

Much's face burst into a smile at these words. "You _do_ need me! I knew it!"

"For cooking," reiterated Robin.

"He needs me," muttered Much, exhaling deeply with a joyful expression.

By this time, Guy had returned his clothing to its normal state and had tucked the drawing of Marian safely into his jacket. "You two done yet? I really don't have time for this."

"You don't have time for us? Would you listen to that, Much? It's like we're not even welcome in our own castle!" Robin exclaimed arrogantly.

"Your castle? How does that work? This was never your castle, Hood," Guy corrected him.

"Oh, right, right, I was confusin' it with Locksley, which I still say belongs to me, Gisborne!" Robin countered. "Besides, the former Sheriff of Nottingham was a friend of mine, and he lived here, so that practically makes it mine."

"No, it doesn't, Hood."

"Yes, it does, Gisborne."

"No, it really doesn't, Hood."

"Yes, it does, Gisborne! Much! Tell him!"

Much nodded his head at Guy when Robin turned to look at him, but when Robin faced Guy again, Much held out his hands helplessly and shrugged. "Uh, yes, Master, that is logic that is in no way faulty."

Guy felt a new sense of pity for Hood's servant, but that didn't stop him from wanting to kill them both, multiple times, for interrupting his sexy alone time. He waved his arm, threatening Hood with his curved dagger. "What the bleeding hell are you doing here? Better tell me now, otherwise I'll have to torture it out of you."

"Aren't you going to torture us, anyway?" Robin asked, smugly.

"Well, yes, probably, but this will hurt even m- sod it, yes. But I might let your friend live – and – and have Bonchurch."

"Really?" Much asked, pleasantly surprised.

"Much! You're not helping!" Robin shouted. "You're so quick to betray me. Unbelievable. And what do you mean, Gisborne, about giving him Bonchurch? You can't do that without the Sheriff's permission." Robin smiled superiorly.

"I just meant . . . that I would get the Sheriff to do it. That's all," Guy stammered. _Damn Hood! _"GUARDS!"

**********************************************************************

_Coming up:  
Team Castle gets a clue to the whereabouts of the seal. Phillip surprises Guy. Marian gets to change clothes. Vasey is still decomposing. Allan goes to the dungeon. Or maybe not._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Sir Phillip of Dunghill was by now thoroughly smitten by the lady at his side. She was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman, really. Of course, he'd never spent this much time with any noblewoman other than his mother, but that was only because women were dirty, filthy creatures who existed only to tempt men to sin; at least, that's what the priest had told him once. Then the priest became a eunuch and committed suicide. But now Phillip was beginning to wonder whether women weren't so evil after all. _Lady Marian certainly couldn't be evil, could she?_

"Sheriff, I've a mind to speak with you about something very important after lunch, if I may," Phillip said, craning his head back to speak to Vasey, whose body was beginning to slump forward a bit in the saddle.

"Er, yes, sure, whatever you like, mate," Allan-as-Vasey replied, caught offguard.

"Very good. Oh, look, a birdie!" Phillip pointed excitedly at a vulture that was circling overhead. "Wonder what makes it spin like that?"

Allan and Marian exchanged nervous glances. Their ruse would be exposed if the vulture decided to make brunch out of the late Sheriff. Plus, it would be extremely gross. Marian crinkled her nose at the thought, then caught Allan looking at her and smiling as if he found her amusing.

"What?"

"What do you mean, what?"

"I mean, what are you looking at me like that for?"

"I dunno, you just looked sort of . . . funny, with your nose wrinkled up like that."

"I look funny?" asked the maiden wearing the slutty Bo Peep costume.

"No, no . . . well, yeah, now that you mention it, but in a good way, alright?"

"Hmm."

Phillip was conversing with the Sheriff now. "Jasper told me all about you, he did. He said you were dia- dia- diolobical, which is the French word for "rich," or is it Belgian? I forget. He said I was to come here and give you the little paper with the funny lines on it, and you'd go and fetch your special book, and then you'd take your seal out of it, and then you'd put some wax on the paper and then put the seal down on it. Oohh, may I be allowed to do that, please? It sounds like such fun, squishing the wax like that."

Allan's eyes went wide and Marian gasped. _What special book?_ Marian, unaware of the seriousness of Phillip's burgeoning feelings for her, sidled up to him, laid a hand on his arm, and gave him her most winning smile. She asked in him in a low voice, "Sir Phillip, what was that you were saying about the Sheriff's book? I love books. Is the Sheriff's book a very good one? Does it have a pretty cover?"

Allan took this opportunity to readjust the Sheriff's corpse, which was slouching down in a most unpresentable manner.

Phillip, tickled by his lady's attentions, giggled. "Well, I've never seen it, but Jasper said it was a _very special book_," he whispered, looking very self-important.

"Yes, but what was it that made the book so special?" Marian tried to blush under her flopping artificial curls. "I would ask the Sheriff, but he's a bit of a meanie, won't share his pretty things. I wish you'd tell me what it looks like."

Phillip was starting to develop a bit of a blush, himself. He gave a furtive glance at the Sheriff, then intoned quietly, "Jasper says it's a book with lovely pictures on the outside. But when you open it up, it has a hole cut in it. That's where the Sheriff keeps the seal. And I do so hope he lets me do the bit with the wax. It sounds so delightful!"

Marian, casting a raised-eyebrow glance at the Sheriff's hunched cadaver, replied, "I'm sure he will not be able to object, Sir Phillip."

Phillip was quite content after that, and they rode the rest of the way to the castle in peace.

************************************************************************

Guy and Hood were staring each other down. Well, actually, Guy was staring down at Hood, but Hood didn't seem to notice the difference. Guy was still waving the dagger, and Hood had his hand on his sword's hilt. The guards still hadn't come after several minutes, and the hallway was silent. It was, after all, almost lunch time.

"Aren't you tired of being the Sheriff's buffoon, Gisborne?"

"Aren't you tired of living in the forest like a wretched cur, Hood?" Guy spat out.

"Cur? What, you mean you don't like dogs? That figures! You're such a bad evil baddie, Gisborne!" Robin cried, smirking.

How very badly Guy wanted to wipe that smirk off his face with the blade of his dagger. "So you're a dog person, Hood? Do you really think the Lady Marian could ever love a dog person?"

"Of course she could! In fact, last night – " This little exchange was interrupted by the connection of Guy's fist with Robin's jaw, which brought the outlaw to his knees.

"Oowwww! That really hurt!" Robin reeled back, rubbing his jaw.

"Master!" Much rushed to Hood's side. "There, now, let me see! Hush, let me see if you're hurt, that's a good boy . . ." Much continued to make soothing noises while Robin sniffed back some every-so-manly tears.

Finally, he got back to his feet, brushing back the wet streaks from his cheeks. "I'm not crying, I'm not!"

Guy smiled at the red welt on the side of Hood's face. "That'll teach you to talk about Marian like that, Hood. Just because she left me at the altar doesn't mean she won't be mine some day!"

"But she punched you in the face!" Much cried.

"And _I_ burned down her house! That means we're even!" shouted Guy, grabbing Much's arm, then dropping it quickly. "Sorry, force of habit."

"Enough, Gisborne! It's time we finally got this over with. You're a traitor to the King, and I don't like the way you look better in leather pants than I do, so I challenge you to a duel!" Robin yelled smugly.

"Master, no! You agreed not to kill him, remember? After we had that intervention for you? I made you a cake!"

"Shut up, Much!" Robin unsheathed his sword. "Give him your sword."

"No, I won't! Not until you ask nicely, anyway."

"Much! Give him the sword!" Much sulked, refusing to hand it over. Robin sighed. "All right, I love you, you're my best friend, and you mean the world to me. Now do what I say!"

"You love me? Really?" Much asked in disbelief.

Guy was growing impatient. Really, the guards were going to have to be sternly reprimanded. He'd grown far too lenient of late. He hadn't tortured anyone in months.

"Yes, yes, now give Gisborne the sword!" Robin shouted. By now Much was too far gone, pondering the wonderful import of those special words Robin had said. Robin hastily snatched the sword from him and tossed it to Guy.

"All right, let's go, just you and me, Gisborne."

"Fine with me, Hood. It's about bloody time."

"Couldn't agree more, Gisborne."

"Glad to hear it, Hood." Guy swung at Robin with Much's sword, but the outlaw jumped back, dodging him and sending the oblivious Much tumbling into the hallway. Robin, now feeling that familiar fervor of righteous indignation, thrust his own sword toward Guy's leather-clad abdomen. Guy blocked the thrust with the pillow from the bed. Feathers went flying everywhere. The two enemies continued parrying and thrusting at each other for several minutes, until Robin finally threw his entire body at Guy, causing them to land on the floor in a not-at-all-homoerotic position. Robin's right leg was straddling Guy's very solid thigh, with their two swords crossed between their heaving torsos. Nope, not homoerotic _at all_.

At this development, Much finally snapped out of his reverie and shouted, "Master, no!"

The two men ignored him and began rolling around on the floor. First Robin was on top, then Guy. They crashed into Marian's dresser and knocked one of her commemorative Holy Land shot glasses (given to her secretly by Robin upon his return to England) onto the floor, where it shattered to pieces. This continued for several minutes, with Much shouting impotently for Guy to get his hands off Robin, or vice versa; and Marian's shot glass collection, along with many other of her prized possessions, was destroyed in the chaos.

Marian, ignorant of this situation, but eager to find something warmer to wear now that they had finally made it back to the castle, hurried up the stairs to her room. She was surprised to find the door wide open, with loud crashing and scuffling sounds coming through it. "Perhaps the Nightwatchman will be needed after all," she said to herself, smiling.

She entered the room to find her ex-fiancé and her fiancé, who was also her ex-fiancé, going at it like wild dogs, while Much futilely tried to break up the fight. "He's _my_ master! Don't you touch him, you filthy beast!"

Marian took this opportunity to sneak over to her trunk, which had so far escaped serious damage, and reach down to the bottom, where her hands found the Nightwatchman costume. She pulled it out and ran back out into the corridor. She decided to change clothes in Vasey's room, since it was currently unoccupied. She made it there without any guards seeing her. _Really, Guy was going to have to do something about the lax security in the castle. After this, of course._

It took her several minutes to unlace her corset, then disentangle the wig from her hair, and finally put on her Nightwatchman costume. She didn't have a sword with her, but she knew the Sheriff probably kept one under his pillow, or somewhere else nearby. _Yes!_ She pulled down her mask and tiptoed down the hallway with the blade at the ready.

She reached her room just in time to see her favorite stuffed animal, Pudsey, being chopped to pieces by Guy's sword. _He had always been jealous of him._ As the two men clashed their swords together, the Nightwatchman's blade came down between them.

Marian took this opportunity to lunge at Guy, causing him to fall backwards onto the bed. She shoved Robin back into a corner, and then she went back for Guy. _Pudsey would be avenged!_ She straddled Guy's waist and raised her fist back to punch him.

Just then, Guy's large hand reached up to encase her much smaller fist. He pulled her down on top of him and rolled her over so that she was underneath him. She felt a strange bulge in his trousers and wondered what it could be. She'd never noticed anything like that on Robin during their kissing sessions.

Robin, not to be outdone by the Nightwatchman, climbed up on the bed, too, and got up on his knees behind Guy's back and started thrusting his body forward, trying to move Guy off Marian. It wasn't working, so he thrust harder and harder, until Much tackled him and pulled him away.

"Master, what are you doing?"

"Trying to save Ma- I mean, the Nightwatchman, what's it look like?"

"But I'm pretty sure the church has very strict regulations against that kind of thing!"

By this time, Guy was starting to wonder why the Nightwatchman had a swollen chest, like a woman. _Hope he's not carrying some filthy peasant disease that gives you huge man knockers_, Guy thought, before reaching out his hand to pull off his opponent's mask.

Right before he could do so, though, Sir Phillip called out from the hallway. "Sir Guy, I would like a word with you!"

Guy, startled and not wanting Sir Phillip to know that anything was amiss, jumped off the Nightwatchman and pushed past Hood and Much. He leaped out the door and closed it behind him, knowing that the three outlaws would be trapped behind the door until the guards came.

He steered Phillip into an alcove where they would be less likely to hear any noises coming from Marian's bedroom. "What is it, Sir Phillip?"

"I have something very special I would like to ask you, Sir Guy . . . Haha, your name's Guy! You're a guy, Guy!" Phillip doubled over with laughter at his own witty joke.

Guy resisted the urge to kick Sir Phillip down the stairs and make it look like an accident. "Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"What? Oh, no, it's about Marian. I want to marry her. I want to marry Marian." He started laughing again, even harder than before. "You get it? Marry Marian!"

Guy had not laughed the first time, and he certainly wasn't about to now. For one thing, Guy hated puns, and also, he wasn't too keen on the idea of anyone marrying Marian - _all right, it was _a little bit_ funn_y – besides himself.

"Have – have you spoken to Lady Marian about this already?" Guy asked, worried that his suspicions about her poor taste in men might be all too justified.

Phillip looked confused. "Why, what should I ask her about it for? I was going to talk to the Sheriff, but he told me to ask you instead. I don't know why. Do you mean to tell me I've got to ask her about it, as well?"

Guy knew that it could be dangerous to risk Phillip's anger, since they still hadn't found the seal yet, and every minute that he was here just increased their chances of being found out. "No, of course not, Sir Phillip. However, you should know that Marian has hardly any wealth to offer you upon marriage. You might want to reconsider your proposal."

"Oh, you mean she hasn't got any money? Well, well. What about dairy cows?" Phillip asked, concerned.

"Not many. They're dried-up old things, no good for making cheeses," Guy warned him darkly.

Phillip's eyes opened wide at this revelation. _No cheese?_ His family didn't have cows, either, so they would have to get cheese some other way. He simply couldn't live without a steady supply. "Perhaps . . . perhaps she has some ducks?"

"Ducks?"

"Yes, we could always have duck milk."

"Uhh . . . you . . . no, I'm afraid she hasn't got any ducks, either."

Then Phillip remembered something. "Oh, of course! I almost forgot! I've got scads of chickens at home. When my father dies, they will go to me. _I was promised them_," Phillip whispered the last sentence, winking at Guy for no apparent reason.

"Oh-h . . . I'm . . . very glad for you, Sir Phillip. But I think perhaps you ought to give the matter some thought. You don't know Lady Marian very well, and, to be honest, she's a bit . . ." Guy tried to think of some fault of Marian's that would put off Dunghill. _Too independent? Too willful? Too . . . Marian?_ No, he would have to do better than that.

"She can't – she can't have any -" Guy began, buying some time.

"Can't have any what? Shears? My mum won't let me use the shears at home. I wish I could. I would cut ever so many things!"

"No! I mean, no. Not shears . . . She can't have any . . ." _Think, think! Think of something, or you might lose Marian forever!_

************************************************************************

In the bedroom, Marian, Robin and Much had begun to panic. Guy had trapped them all inside with no hope of escape. Marian tore off her mask and slid over to the edge of the bed and swung her feet over.

"This is all your fault, Robin." She was in no mood to be charitable now that their arses were about to be killed.

"What? How is it my fault? Just because I broke into the castle and got caught by Gisborne, and you tried to save me? How is that in any way my fault?" Robin was stunned by her utterly unfair accusation.

"Well, Master, if you hadn't come in here to try and read Marian's diary, we –"

"What? You were going to read my diary?" Marian demanded angrily.

"No, no, no! Well, not _just_ that. We were also going to steal some things from the Sheriff."

"You mean like important information about the Black Knight's plot against the King?" Marian asked.

"Erm, somethin' like that . . ." Robin trailed off.

"No, Master, it was the Sheriff's silver goblet that you've always admired. Don't you remember?" Much supplied helpfully.

"A goblet?! You got us all killed over a _goblet_?" Marian yelled, not caring if Guy heard her.

"_And_ your diary! Or needn't I remind you of that?" Robin yelled back.

"Wait, why are you trying to make it sound like my fault that you were going to read my diary?" Marian asked, puzzled.

"It was for your own good!" Robin exclaimed.

"How? How could that be for my own good?" Marian asked irately.

"I wanted to protect you! From Gisborne!"

"How would reading my diary protect me from Gisborne? Not that I need to be protected!"

"Of course you do! From Gisborne _and_ the Sheriff!"

"The Sheriff is dead!"

"What?" She had managed to take some of the wind out of Robin's bellows.

"He's dead. He fell down the stairs last night while he was very, very drunk."

"That's wonderful!" cried Much joyfully. Then he frowned. "Oh, except that now we're all doomed."

"Exactly. Which is why the last thing I need is for the two of you to interfere! Guy and Allan and I have this all under control. We have a plan, and it's worked so far." Marian looked rather proud of herself.

Robin was trying to look brooding. "Marian, you can't stay here now. Prince John's men will come and sack Nottingham. Let me protect you! I'm really good at that!"

"Um. D'you really think so?"

"Yeah! I'm always rescuing you, aren't I?"

"Name once. When I wasn't in danger because of you in the first place."

Somewhere, a cricket chirped.

"I still say you need my protection!" Robin shouted at last.

"And I beg to differ!" Marian cried passionately.

"Well, you didn't do a very good job fighting off Gisborne this time."

"That's because I was trying to help you!"

"And I am trying to help the King!" Robin shouted self-importantly.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Marian asked, stumped.

Robin shook his head at her. "Oh, that's what I expected you'd say." He paused, clenching his fists in front of him, trying to control his righteous, God-sanctioned anger. "You love Gisborne, don't you?" he burst out after a few moments.

"What?" Marian was truly stunned. _Love Gisborne? Why, certainly, he was easy on the eyes, muscular, handsome, dark, brooding, rich, powerful, fond of daffodils, probably great in bed . . . _Wait, where was she?_ Oh, right. Love Gisborne? No, the very idea was absurd! _"Robin, that is ridiculous. You know I love you. It must be true, because I often dream that Guy has kidnapped me and locked me in a tower, where he ravishes me again and again and again."

Much seemed to be having a mild choking fit. *cough* "Slut!" *cough*

"You – you dream about Gisborne?!" Robin fumed.

"Yes! And then, when we're so tired that we can't possibly continue, you – come and rescue me and take me back to the forest where nothing ever happens _ever again_. So it _must_ be true, Robin. I love you."

Robin, convinced at last by his love's heartfelt words and infallible logic, rushed to embrace her. "My love, we will get out of here somehow. I'm going to get us out and then we're going to settle down in the forest and have lots of babies and a hut and some dogs to run around in the yard."

Marian pulled back. "Dogs?"

"Yes, some big, slobbery ones with extra-loud barks. It'll be wonderful!"

"Not kittens? Kittens are sweet. We could have kittens instead," Marian asserted.

"Kittens? What do we want with kittens, then? They don't even bark!" Robin said, laughing at his fiancée's silly opinions.

Marian's face was grave. She took a deep breath. "Robin, I've decided I'm not going back with you. I'm going to stay in the castle. For England." _And not because I want Sir Guy to do naughty, naughty things to me._

************************************************************************

Guy was searching his brain, desperate for an idea. Then he hit on just the thing. _Of course._ "Dairy. She can't have any dairy."

Phillip's face registered the shock. "W-what? Can't have any dairy? What about milk?"

"No milk."

"What about cheese?"

"No, absolutely no cheese."

"Not even a nice buttercream?" Phillip asked, crestfallen. "Well, that does complicate things."

"Yes, but there's no harm done. You haven't asked Marian herself yet," Guy reminded him.

"Asked her what?" Phillip inquired.

"To marry you," Guy said.

"Why would I do that?" Phillip asked, baffled.

"Never mind. Let's just put the whole thing behind us, shall we?" Guy suggested, trying to guide Phillip toward the steps.

"But what about getting married? I want to marry Marian," Phillip insisted, giggling again at his little joke.

"You – but I – I thought you would not want to marry a lady who can't have dairy," Guy said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Oh, but I still want to marry her! She's very pretty, and she wears very little clothes for a noble lady," Phillip said, smiling. "I like her."

Guy choked back a feral scream. "Of course you do, but . . . why don't we discuss this a bit later? Say, after lunch?" Guy fumbled in his pocket for a coin, then fished one out after a few seconds. "Here's a shiny silver shilling to look at, there's a good chap," Guy said, handing him the piece of money.

"Ohh, yes, it's lovely!" Phillip was mesmerized by the object's burnished surface.

"Will you go on down without me? I have some business to attend to, then I shall join you and the Sheriff in the dining room," said Guy, grinding his teeth at the thought of what he was about to do with Robin Hood's neck.

Relieved when Phillip finally disappeared around the curve in the stairway, Guy exhaled, leaned his head back against the wall, and thought about finally giving the Nightwatchman what he deserved. Oh, yes, he would punish him again and again. He would finally get to put him in chains and then give him the lashings he'd been aching to mete out since the night of the break-in at Locksley.

He put his hand on the door handle, wondering why he even bothered to have guards, and flung the door open quickly in order to avoid giving the outlaws advanced warning. They might try to ambush him, but he would be ready for them.

Instead of seeing three frightened outlaws lying in wait for him, though, Guy saw only Marian, standing in the middle of the room in a tight black dress with black lace trailing down her arms like spiderwebs. Her face was white, with a smudge of black paint over each eye and a slice of dark purple tint on her lips.

"Marian, what – Hood and the Nightwatchman – they're here in this room! You've got to come out now; it's not safe!" He reached out his hand, hoping she'd cooperate. It wasn't possible that they had escaped. They must still be here. Hiding.

"Guy, don't be silly! There's no one here," Marian said, then sternly continued, "and I would appreciate it if you would knock before entering my room in future." _Otherwise, it would be just like that dream she'd had two nights ago when he came in and . . . No! Focus! Think of Robin! _Then she looked about her and remembered that she should be surprised to see her room in shambles. "Is that what happened? They came in and ransacked everything?"

"They were just here a moment ago. They're probably hiding beneath the bed . . ." Guy walked over to look.

Marian hurried over to him and put a hand on his chest, blocking him. Guy slowly looked down at her fingers, which were fiddling with one of the wolf's heads on his jacket. She looked up at him with her innocent, black-ringed eyes, like a charming raccoon. _If I'm going to save Robin and Much, I'm going to have to beguile Guy. Beguile Guy! Ha!_ She smiled at her own pun, and the warmth of her expression seemed to spread onto Guy's face. He looked less tense than before.

"Marian, I must check to make sure this room is safe. But I hope we may have time to talk soon. There is something I need to discuss with you. Several things, actually," he said, his deep voice lowering, his breath tickling her ear and sending a jolt down to her toes, which happened to be covered by some thick-soled black boots.

"Guy, I – " she hesitated, noticing Robin's foot dart momentarily out from under the bed. "I do wish to speak with you. In fact, I think we should go somewhere more private. Right now." She tucked her arm under his and walked toward the exit.

Guy hesitated. "Marian, if they are still here – "

Marian tried to keep her voice light, even as she saw the outline of Much fidgeting behind her wall tapestry. "Oh, Guy. Let the guards take care of it! That's what they're for, isn't it?"

_Where the devil _were_ the guards, anyway?_ thought Guy. Then he caught sight of a positively enormous amount of cleavage afforded him by Marian's new dress. _To the devil with it_, he thought. Vasey was dead, so it wasn't as though he could punish him for letting Hood escape.

"Very well, Marian. We can talk in my bedroom," he said with a gutteral resonance. He didn't even bother to shut the door on the way out. _Fuck it all, we're all going to be hanged, anyway._

End of Chapter Six

_Will Phillip and Marian find true love? Or will she choose to stay with Robin? Or will she have hot, steamy sex with Guy (and possibly Allan) after a night of romantic kitten-saving? It's all very suspenseful, isn't it?_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

As soon as Robin Hood heard the click of Marian's door closing, he scrambled out from beneath Marian's bed, where he'd been hiding. He spat out the dust bunnies he'd inhaled and hissed, "Much!"

"Yes, Master?" whispered the tapestry.

"You can come out now."

"Come out? What do you mean by that? I have no idea what you could mean!"

"I mean, they're gone, so you can come out from there! Hurry up, we haven't got much time!" Then Robin wondered if this was true. _Marian, going to Gisborne's room alone?_ He suspected she might need some more of his special brand of protection.

"Oh, yes, of course, Master. I'm . . . coming out now." Much stepped out from behind the curtain. "But I still don't understand why we couldn't hide in the closet. There was room for both of us in there!"

"Come on, Much! Marian is with Gisborne, and she needs us to protect her."

"I dunno, seems like she was doing just fine with him a minute ago," Much replied. Can't we just step into the closet to try it out? What if we need to hide in here again sometime?"

"Much! Not now!" Seeing his manservant's hurt look, Robin added, "Perhaps later."

"Very good, Master. All right, let's go spy on Marian, then."

"We're not spying! We're protecting!" Robin protested.

"Right, of course. Protecting with our eyes." Much winked knowingly.

Robin pushed open the door and strutted down the hall of the castle he liked to think of as his own, and Much followed close behind him.

Robin stopped in front of Guy's bedroom door. "Shh, they're in here. Go keep watch by the stairs and I'll sp- I mean, start protecting Marian." Much hastened to the head of the stairs while Robin prodded the door open slightly. Somehow it did not creak, despite the fact that it was a very old, rusty, heavy door. Robin seemed to be blessed with such luck, which was good for him, because otherwise he would have long since been killed by his – let's call it "daring."

What he saw through the narrow crack in the door caused his jaw to drop in an almost painful manner. _What was she letting Gisborne do to her?_

************************************************************************

Allan was starting to wish he could trade places with the Sheriff. At least all his worldly troubles were over, even if he was currently burning in the hottest shire in hell for his nasty behavior. It could hardly be worse than lugging around a corpse of said Sheriff and impersonating his voice via ventriloquism. _On top of everything else, I'm getting a raw throat_, Allan thought, then tossed a log onto the dying fire of the dining room. He sighed. _Ready, I guess._

He fetched Sir Phillip, who was getting a head start on lunch by nibbling at a hunk of Edam. He smiled happily at Allan, revealing his red-tinted teeth. He hadn't really had time to get through the layer of wax yet, but the wax was still quite tasty. "The Sheriff is expecting you," Allan informed him.

Allan stood by the Sheriff's side during lunch. Fortunately, Phillip rarely looked up from his cheese and wine, which allowed Allan to occasionally take scraps from Vasey's plate and feed them the dog under the table. Not so fortunately, the dog was more interested in gnawing on Vasey's leg than he was in the cheese and mutton scraps that Allan was feeding him. _Who was that bloke in the Bible who was hanged seventy-five feet high? They'd all set a new record once Prince John found out about this._

"My lord Sheriff, you certainly know how to set a fine table! This cheese is delec- . . . decletcab- . . . very tasty!"

"Thank you, my boy, glad you're enjoying yourself. I'm going to have to give my servant Allan here a raise! Make sure to mention that to Gisborne when he comes, won't you?" the "Sheriff" replied. _This was not in my job description. Wonder if there's a henchman's guild in Nottinghamshire._

************************************************************************

"Right this way, my lady," Guy said, smiling as he ushered Marian into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He quickly stashed the drawing of her in an open drawer, which he then quickly slammed shut.

Marian spun around quickly, almost catching him in the act. "Guy!"

"Yes, Marian?" he uttered in a deep voice, grasping her elbow gently.

"I need to speak with you."

"Ye-es, I believe we already established that, did we not?" He grinned, enjoying her discomfiture a great deal. "I wish to 'speak' with you, too." He took a step nearer, lowering his face toward hers.

_Those blasted kittens._ Marian hadn't been able to get that image from earlier out of her mind. She lowered her lashes and found herself staring at Guy's codpiece. _What did he keep in there, anyway? _Marian began to wish she were a little more acquainted with the ways of the world. Robin had never taught her anything other than kissing, and even then, his kisses weren't in the infamous Norman style, like Guy's hot and heavy ones. _Kittens . . . mewling . . . and being rescued by Guy and the Nightwatchman . . . _It was too much._ Maybe this was a mistake._

Guy reached out his forefinger and lightly traced it along her jaw, then used it to softly tilt her chin back up to him. "Marian, about your ride with Sir Phillip today . . ."

Just then, Marian saw a slight movement out of the corner of her eye; she sensed that they were being watched, and she had a pretty good guess by whom. The desire to make that certain person squirm became an insurmountable temptation.

"Guy," she interrupted, "first I have something I need you to do for me." She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"Yes, Marian? What can I –" he brushed a stray curl off her powder-caked cheek, "– do for you?"

She whispered something in his ear, and he smirked. _Oh, yes, she was going to make this an interesting game, wasn't she?_ "If you insist, my lady." He circled her neck with his hands then slid them down to her milky white back, touching nearly every inch of skin along the way. His hands reached up again and began kneading her scalp. "Is that to your liking?" he asked, but she only made little gasping sounds in reply.

He clasped her wrist, and she turned around for him, accidentally looking him in the eye in the process. She gulped. He placed his hands under her arms and slowly brought them down to her waist, causing little goosebumps to form on back of her neck. She could feel his hot breath there, which was doing nothing to make the goosebumps go away.

"Yes, Guy!" she moaned. He was reaching around her body towards the laces on her corset, when she suddenly turned around and pressed her back against the door, slamming it shut and pinching Robin's nose in the process.

"Ow!" the outlaw cried from the corridor.

"Did you say something?" Guy asked as he placed his hands against the door above Marian's shoulders.

"Uh, I said 'Wow!'" she lied. _At least, that's what I was thinking. Damn._ Now that Robin was no longer spying, though, she knew that it was time to get back to business, despite her curiosity about what Guy would do to her if she let him continue. Guy, however, did not look like he was thinking about business. "Guy, please –" she put her hand on his chest and pushed him back. Strangely, he did not look surprised.

Guy sighed in frustration, but only replied, "What is it, Marian?" _He was going to have a lot of thinking to do tonight._

"First of all, thank you for checking me for ticks. I was riding in the forest earlier, and you know how they can jump. A physician once told me they can bite and cause imbalances in the humours."

"I would be happy to look more closely if you like. They can get," he looked down her dress brazenly, "under one's clothing, too. Frightful creatures."

She felt that perhaps she'd gone too far with the flirting this time. She had wanted to rub Robin's nose in it, first for trying to spy on her by reading her diary, and then . . . for trying to spy on her again. _And it had nothing to do with wanting Guy's hands on her. Nothing._

"Guy, really." She pursed her lips together primly and wondered why men had such a hard time controlling themselves. Again, she wished she knew more about men so that she could understand why they were unable to turn off their _strange feelings_ as easily as she could. Then again, she could always go for a horse ride to relieve herself. "We've got to talk about the seal. I have a clue as to its whereabouts. Sir Phillip told me –"

Guy seized her right arm. "Oh, Sir Phillip told you, did he? And just what did you have to do to get him to do that?" Guy sneered.

"Nothing! I only batted my eyes a little and put my hand on his arm."

Guy let go of her right arm and then clutched at her left one. "Oh, is that all? Because it seems you made quite an impression on the poor dolt. Did you also happen to agree to marry him?"

"What?" Marian gasped, astonished by Guy's jealousy. _Really, why was he so untrusting?_

"Did you . . . agree . . . to marry Sir Phillip?" Guy said, slowly enunciating each word through clenched teeth.

"Marry . . . Sir Phillip? I don't understand," she said, honestly confused.

"Dunghill wants you for his wife. He's asked for your hand."

"He asked the Sheriff?"

"No, he asked me."

"You don't have permission to grant my hand to anyone!" Marian cried.

"May I remind you that the Sheriff is dead?" Guy yelled. Then, regaining some of his composure, he added, "Besides, I haven't exactly told him yes."

"What does that mean?"

"I couldn't outright refuse him. We can't risk making him angry, especially not while we still don't have the seal," Guy explained. "But I promise you, he's not going to take you anywhere," he growled in his growly voice.

"Pardon? _You_ have no right to decide whom I marry!" Marian cried.

"Then you do want to marry him?" Guy nearly choked on the words.

"Marry Robin Hood? Of course not!"

"Robin Hood? No, I meant Sir Phillip!" Guy said, wondering if he would ever understand the inner workings of her mind.

"Oh! Yes. Of course." Marian blushed for a moment. _Why had she said that?_

"Then . . . you don't want to marry Dunghill?" Guy asked tentatively, thinking perhaps he ought to have been checking her for head injuries instead of ticks.

"No, of course not! Guy, I don't want to marry anybody," she said, for extra emphasis, thinking how true it was. _Wait, what? I'm engaged to Robin. I want to marry him. Truly. Those nightmares about raising bow-wielding, smug-faced brats in the forest were just . . . dreams._

"You don't mean that," Guy said, his eyes conveying how she had wounded him. "I mean, about not wanting to marry anybody, not about not wanting to marry Dunghill."

"Oh, I only meant that – of all the men who have asked me – I mean, of all the men who are currently – I mean, I don't want to get married right now. That's all." _She was starting to wish Allan would interrupt them again. This wasn't going at all like she'd planned._ She cleared her throat. "Anyway, that's not important. About the seal – I think the Sheriff kept it in a book somewhere."

"What book?"

"If I knew, I would have the seal already."

"Well, what else did Dunghill say?" Guy asked, finally taking his eyes off her busoms, between which was nestled a vial of what appeared to be blood. It had been a gift with the purchase of her dress at Haute Taupicks.

"He said there's some kind of secret compartment inside the book that contains the seal. Where does the Sheriff keep his books?"

Guy laughed until the tears came. "Books?"

"Yes, what's so funny?"

"Books. Fancy the Sheriff, reading about King Arthur by candlelight. Oh, Marian." He lightly grasped her shoulder with one hand and wiped the tears away with the other. She cracked the slightest hint of a smile at the sight of the dour Sir Guy laughing like . . . like Allan.

"Then he does not have any books?"

"He does not have any books. Only a few sketches of me that I would rather not talk about," Guy answered.

"But he must have. Sir Phillip said there was a book!"

"Yes, but Sir Phillip is . . . shall we say that his parents probably had to get a papal dispensation to marry because of consanguinity?" Guy jeered. "He might be wrong."

"I don't think so this time. He said Jasper told him about it."

"And what if Jasper is as big an imbecile as his cousin?" Guy asked.

"I have a feeling about this, Guy. Aren't there any books in the castle?"

"The only ones I've seen are in your room."

"What do you mean? The ones on my bookshelf? But they're mine, and none of them have secret compartments," Marian replied.

"I don't suppose the Sheriff would have hidden it there, anyway."

"Yes, I doubt it. Did he leave you no clue about its hiding place?"

"He only said I would never find it. And that you would never – I mean – nothing."

"I would never what?" Marian asked suspiciously.

"Never . . . find it, either," Guy finished lamely.

************************************************************************

Robin and Much were making their way out of the castle. Or, rather, Much was dragging his dejected master by the arm. "Come on, we've got to get out of here before the guards see us!"

"I don't care if they do see us."

"Nonsense! You don't want to be hanged, do you?"

"You didn't see what he was doing to her. _And she liked it_," Robin said, pouting.

"Well, then . . . what about me? You don't want _me_ to be hanged, do you?" Much asked, not entirely sure what the answer would be.

He didn't get a chance to find out, though, because at that moment, a guard finally did come walking through the corridor, and they had to duck into the closest room, which happened to be Marian's. Apparently Robin's sense of self-preservation had not left him entirely.

"I should have just let the guard take me," Robin said, plopping himself down on Marian's bed, resting his chin on his fists.

"Master, you don't mean that!" Much exclaimed. "If you did, you would go out into the hall right now and let him arrest you."

"Shut up, Much!"

"Sorry, Master, but it's true."

"I said, shut up!" Robin continued pouting for a moment, then his eyes started to fix on Marian's desk, which was right in his line of sight. "Hmm. Maybe this doesn't have to be an entirely wasted venture." He stood up and walked over to the desk, fingering some of Marian's papers and trinkets that hadn't been smashed in the fight with Gisborne.

"Master, what are you doing? You're not still thinking about reading her diary after all this, are you?" Much asked, exasperated.

"Of course! It's the only way I can be sure she's safe from Gisborne," Robin replied.

"Wait, how does that work again?"

"If I read her diary, I know what she's thinking. And if I know what she's thinking, I can make sure she's not thinking any thoughts that could be dangerous! And if she is, I can make her change her mind, see reason."

"Uhh . . . yes, Master, that is quite . . . ehhh . . ." Much stammered.

Robin ignored him and begain rifling through the desk. He sifted through stacks of letters, but none of them contained any pertinent information. He tossed aside her collection of jewel-encrusted knives and then got his hand stuck to a wad of chewing gum. _Still no diary. Where could she be hiding it? And why was Marian such a pig about her chewing gum?_

"Master, hurry! They could be back any moment!" Much hissed, fidgeting by the door.

Robin slammed his fist down on the bottom of the lowest drawer. Suddenly a panel popped open, and he pulled it back to reveal a book with an exquisite illustration on the cover. He was about to open it when Much whispered, "They're coming! We have to go now!"

Robin looked down at the book, then back up at Much. Frowning, he shoved it into his satchel (_It was _not_ a purse! Purses have bows and things!_) and ran out the door that Much was holding open. They ran down the stairs, punched out a couple of guards who were finally making their way back from lunch, then sneaked through the portcullis, where the guards were enjoying their noontime nap.

They stole a couple of horses from a merchant (he was probably corrupt, anyway) and rode back to the camp, leaving poor, defenseless Marian in the clutches of the evil Guy of Gisborne.

************************************************************************

Guy escorted Marian down to the dining hall where Phillip and Vasey were waiting for them. Well, Phillip was mostly absorbed in eating, while Vasey was fully dead, so perhaps one should say that Allan was waiting for them. As they entered the hall, that young man, who had broken out into a sweat and nearly stopped breathing, exhaled deeply. The slight movement was enough to cause Vasey's torso to fall forward. His face plopped into his soup and created quite a mess.

"Oh, dear!" Phillip said between chews.

"It's quite all right, my lord," Allan muttered as he leaped forward to pull Vasey's cranium out of the minestrone, which, frankly, was a little watery that day. "Sheriff's just very tired this morning, what with the, uh, squirrels, and all. Keep him up at nights, they do."

"Oh, squirrels! Ghastly beasts," sympathized Phillip. "The priest at Dunghill says they are all the devil's min- . . . min- . . . helpers. Wise chap, the priest is. Taught me everything I know about nature."

"I'm sure he is, Sir Phillip," Guy assured him, stepping forward to block his view of the Sheriff while Allan cleaned the rather thin soup off the corpse's face. Marian said nothing to Phillip, but only nodded at him politely and took a seat near the Sheriff.

Lunch was a sordid affair, and Vasey's presence only served to make it more so. Marian and Guy both looked down at their untouched plates in disgust as they tried to ignore Phillip's cow-like mastications and his intermittent sheepish glances at the lady he hoped would soon be his bride.

Once it was finally over and Vasey had been carried upstairs for his "nap," Marian trotted down to the kitchen to fill her empty stomach without Phillip's loud chewing. Guy, meanwhile, was thinking of swiping a loaf of bread to feed Vasey's birds, but didn't want to risk asking the servants for it, and Allan was busy taking the dead Sheriff upstairs; thus, he entered the kitchen just in time to find Marian filling a bowl with leftover pudding.

"Guy! I was just –"

"I noticed you didn't eat anything at lunch, either. I was just going to get something to feed the Sheriff's birds. They probably haven't been fed in days," Guy said, placing his hand on Marian's arm. "And you're going to need your strength. I don't want to interrupt you."

Marian smiled and started to walk out of the kitchen. When her hand was on the door, she whirled around suddenly. "Guy, what made you think of feeding the Sheriff's birds? With all that's been going on, surely you would hardly have time to think of such a little thing."

"As a matter of fact, it was your book that made me think of it."

"My book?"

"Yes, your copy of _The Birds_; I, er, found it in your desk drawer. Accidentally."

"Guy, I don't own a copy of _The Birds_."

They both looked up slowly and stared at each other for a moment. Guy caught another peek at her cleavage, too, and Marian couldn't resist a second glance at his codpiece, but then their gazes were definitely locked.

"Guy."

"Marian."

"Guy."

"Marian?"

"Guy!" Marian exclaimed. "The book!"

"The book!" Guy shouted, grabbing her arm. "It's got the seal in it."

"Where did you leave it?" Marian asked, alarmed.

"I put it back in your desk, right where I found it," Guy uttered, bringing his lips close to her ear.

"Then we've got to fetch it immediately!" Marian shouted, causing Guy to wince and step back.

"You should eat something first."

"I'll bring it with me."

"You'll spill it down your dress."

"Why were you searching my room, again?" Marian asked, raising her right eyebrow, which had been filled in with a charcoal pencil.

Guy gulped visibly. "You're right. We'll both go now."

They both turned and fled the kitchen, making for Marian's bedroom.

Marian pulled open the door, relieved to see that Robin and Much were apparently gone. She and Guy looked down at her open desk drawer.

"You didn't shut the drawer when you put the book back? Didn't you think I'd notice?" Marian asked.

"I did close it. I'm sure of it," Guy growled.

"But it's open now!"

Guy leaned down on one knee and examined the drawer, and then he noticed that the secret panel was open.

"It's gone."

"Gone? How can it be –" Marian paused, realizing how it could be gone.

Guy nodded. "Hood. He's taken it with him, and now we're all going to die for sure."

End of Chapter Seven

Oh, no! Will Guy get the seal back from Robin? Will the birds ever get to eat? Will Marian get Lyme Disease? Find out in the next installment of "Weekend at Vasey's"!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_Damn it_. Robin Hood had stolen the book that contained the seal that could save them all from death. What's more, he had done it thinking it was Marian's diary. That lady was quite outraged, and for once she wasn't obliged to hide her feelings from Guy.

"Damn! Damn, damn, damn!" she cursed, and it was loud and satisfying.

Guy was shocked to hear this unseemly language coming from her charming mouth for a second time in one day. "Marian, I had not thought you so familiar with such expressions."

Marian attempted to blush, but under all her white slap, it was a dismal failure. _Whatever. _"Do you really think I'm such a fine lady as all that? It's not as though I spend my time in high society, polishing my manners."

"Very true. But I did not say I didn't like it. In fact, I should like to hear more of it, perhaps under different circumstances. How do you feel about taking the Lord's name in vain?" Guy asked, thinking about how a certain fantasy of his might play out.

"Christ's balls, Guy, we don't have time for this!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door, then stopped. She could hardly bring him along to chase Robin. They'd kill each other, and they wouldn't even be fighting over her this time.

Guy tried to focus on the situation at hand and not on her privy-mouth, which was having an effect on his physical body as well as his thoughts. "What do you think Hood is planning to do with the seal? How did he find out what it was, or where?" A speck of suspicion began to darken his eyes.

"I don't know, Guy. I doubt he knows anything. He probably just liked the drawings on the front. He'll likely toss it aside when he sees it's not worth anything." She bit her lip, trying to think how she could keep Guy in the castle while she went after Robin. "I might be able to find something out if you were to stay behind. The people still trust me, but they'll never talk if you're with me."

"Why not?"

"What do you mean? They fear you."

"Then they will speak to me. They will be too afraid not to."

Marian sighed. _Guy could be so clueless. And cute._ In fact, his cluelessness only made him cuter. _Robinrobinrobin_. "Guy, trust me. I have . . . connections among the people. I think I can get the seal back if you'll only stay behind." She reached out her arm and placed a hand awkwardly on his shoulder, thinking of their earlier tick-finding session and wondering how he was able to put his hands all over her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Someone needs to stay behind with Sir Phillip. You don't want me to be left alone with him, do you?"

Guy, who was not so clueless as she imagined him, flatly answered, "No, of course not. You're right. I shall wait here for you. Take Allan along for protection."

She almost protested, but then realized that Allan was the perfect person to take along. He knew the outlaw's hideout even better than she did. Plus, he was quite good at ventriloquism, and you never knew when that might come in handy.

There was only one thing left to do. "Guy, leave me. I must prepare myself."

Guy, who had been forming plans of his own, silently took his leave of her.

************************************************************************

Allan had just finished hauling the Sheriff's putrid corpse up to his bedroom and put a guard in front of it. He had worked up quite a sweat, so he ducked into his own room, careful to avoid Guy or Marian, for fear that they would ask him to do something else, like perhaps urinate on a crucifix or tumble a nun. Although the second one he wouldn't mind so much, and after all this, he could hardly expect to get into heaven, anyhow.

He splashed his face with some very cold water from his basin and unbuckled his heavy leather jacket. He was just pulling off the sweat-drenched tunic underneath when Guy barged in without knocking. _Typical_.

"Allan!" Guy barked, then stared at his underling, noticing that he was half-naked. "What are you doing? Get dressed. I've got a job for you."

"What's it look like? I'm soaked to the bone with sweat after runnin' all over bloomin' Nottingham with the dead Sheriff, so I thought I'd change! I can't do this, Giz. Not without some greater incentive. I mean, I'm riskin' me neck for you, and all you can do is snarl at me. I'm thinkin' about startin' up a guild."

"I do not snarl!" growled Guy, placing his tight grip around Allan's wrist. "And don't even think about starting a guild. I'll just bring in an Irishman to replace you, and he'll work twice as hard for half the pay! It's a wonder I haven't done it already!"

"You wouldn't!" Allan yelped.

"Wouldn't I?" Guy intoned in that guttural way of his that bespoke danger – oh, so much danger. And maybe other things. _Sexier things_. If he were a girl, anyway. Surely Guy didn't go for that kind of thing; not when there was Marian. _Right?_

"Well . . . you'd never find someone to replace me, not with all I do for you! I bend over backward just to please you. Literally." Allan sighed, knowing that he was never going to win this argument. Guy was giving him a look that would have burned holes through the stone walls. "All right, just gimme a minute, will ya? I've got to find a clean shirt."

Guy did not bother to turn his back while Allan changed. Instead, he fixed his eyes on his manservant's backside and continued shouting his orders. "You are to accompany Lady Marian out of the castle. She is going to try to find information about the Sheriff's seal, which was stolen by Robin Hood."

At this, Allan turned around and stared at Guy with his head partially poking out of the one clean tunic that he could find. His room was really quite a sty. _He would clean it up just as soon as this mess with the Sheriff was over – if he wasn't hanged._ _He really wouldn't like to be hanged._ "Wot? Go with Maz to find the what with the who now?"

"Maz?" Guy snapped.

"Yeah, you know, 'Lady' Marian," joked Allan, holding up air quotes. He looked rather silly doing it with only his fingers poking out of his tunic.

Guy angrily kicked over a nearby footstool and took a step closer to Allan, who quickly tugged his tunic on the rest of the way. "What's that supposed to mean?" Guy growled.

"Well, you know, Maz- Marian- Lady Marian can be a little bit . . . you know." Allan rolled his eyes in a manner that conveyed absolutely no meaning whatsoever.

"No, I don't know."

"It's just that she's – well, did you see what she was wearin' earlier? Not that I'm complainin'!" Allan, feeling that he might be lucky if it was Prince John's army that killed him, slapped Guy on the shoulder jovially. "Uh, no offense, mate. I mean, Giz. I mean, Sir Guy."

Guy grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and practically threw Allan out of the room, then tossed his leather jacket after him. "You're going. End of discussion."

************************************************************************

Marian and Allan were ready to go out for the second time that day. Marian had chosen something more appropriate for the freezing weather this time. It would be perfect for confronting Robin, as well. Allan gaped at her as she tucked a dagger into her knee-high boots and gave him an eyeful of bust line that was enhanced by her leather lace-up corset. The billowing sleeves of a white blouse underneath it fluttered in the cool air. She adjusted her eye patch and clasped her fake hook hand, and they set off.

"Avast, Allan! Let's go before that scurvy outlaw makes off with my treasure! I mean . . . the Sheriff's seal!" Marian hollered, spurring her horse to jolt out through the portcullis. Allan simply shook his head and followed her. _It's not as if things could get worse_, he thought.

They reached Hood's camp in less than half an hour. They dismounted their horses, and a moment later they were both suspended in midair, held up by the rope traps that the outlaws had rigged up. _Really, this is so juvenile_, though Marian. _And I've lost my parrot._

"Well, well! I didn't expect to see you find you _hanging around_ here so soon after I left you in Gisborne's company!" yelled Robin arrogantly.

"Very funny," Marian muttered.

"I didn't realized you _swing_ that way, Marian!" Robin continued.

"Shut up and get me down."

"I really had to _suspend_ disbelief on that one, didn't I?" Robin went on, chuckling.

"Please tell me you just made that up, and that you haven't actually been practicing these," Marian yelled.

"You're clearly trying to _rope_ Gisborne in, but perhaps he was _tied up_ with other business?"

"Oh, come on!" Allan shouted.

"I mean, I knew you liked to keep Gisborne _dangling_ on a string, but this is ridiculous!" cried the outlaw, choking on the last word. He started to cry like a little boy.

Marian shrieked, writhing in the ropes that were digging into her abdomen. "Does the name Abelard mean anything to you, Robin?" she gasped, not caring if she passed out from lack of breath.

Robin sat down on a stump and rubbed his fists over his eyes, unable to impede the flow of tears from them. "Why can't you just be how I want you to be, Marian?"

"Master!" cried Much, storming through the trees toward Robin. "What is it? Do you need me? Do you want me to pour you a hot bath?"

"No!" Robin exclaimed sulkily.

"Much!" Marian screamed. "Get me down!"

"Get US down, she means!" Allan called out.

Much was distracted by a pile of bright green feathers that were lying on the ground underneath them. He walked over to it, then nudged it with his toe. "What's this?"

"That is Polly, and I'll thank you to leave him alone!" Marian shouted. "Now lower the ropes! This is a matter of grave importance."

Much continued to stare suspiciously at Polly. Luckily for Allan and Marian, Little John, Will and Djaq arrived just then, alerted by the noise. They were kind enough to help the two swingers down. Marian twisted her ankle when she hit the ground and gained a genuine hobble to go with her fake peg leg.

"Arrrrrrggg! RRRROBIN! Where is the book?"

"What? What book?" sniffled Robin.

"The one you stole from my room, of course!"

"You mean your diary?"

"No, it's not my diary, it's a very important book and I need it back and give it to me right now or I will brain you I swear it." The words came out in a rush as she began smacking Robin on the back of the head.

"My lady, please stop!" Much cried.

"What book?" asked Djaq, her interest piqued.

"Ow, what's all this? I just took your stupid book! I didn't even get a chance to look in it yet." Robin gaped at her, confused by her outrage.

"Give it to me _now_. You have broken my trust, and I will never forgive you," Marian said stonily.

"But I'm very charming! All the teenage girls in the village think so," said Robin.

"I am not a teenage girl anymore. And I think the ring you gave me is ugly," Marian said, re-adjusting her eye patch, and then picking up her sailor hat and brushing it off.

"Ugly! I stole that ring from a duchess, I'll have you know!"

"Then you did her a favor."

"Marian, please. Be sensible. You know you and I are meant to end up together."

"End up together? You mean by chance? Robin, I . . . I'm very tired, and I just want my book back. Where is it?"

"I forget."

"You forget?"

"Robin, come on. This is serious stuff," spoke Allan.

"I'm not giving it back until I know what it is."

"It's a book. There aren't any pictures, so it'll be no use to you."

"I mean, what's so special about it? Why do you need it so badly?" asked Robin.

"Give it to me, and I'll tell you," Marian promised, holding her fingers crossed behind her back and shifting her weight to her good leg.

"I don't believe you."

Marian hobbled over to Robin, trying her best to look alluring in her buccaneer costume. She placed her hook hand on his shoulder and tried to play with the curls on the back of his neck.

"Owwww!" Robin cried, clasping a hand to his neck where Marian had scraped it.

"Sorry."

"Why are you dressed like that, anyway?"

"That outfit I do not like," chimed in Little John.

"It is very . . . interesting," added Djaq, trying to be supportive.

" . . ." said Will. ". . ." Well, his eyes said _so much_. You don't even know.

"You don't like it?" Marian asked, hurt. "Well, I'm sure Sir Phillip will appreciate it," she said saucily.

"Who's Sir Phillip?" Robin asked.

". . .?" inquired Will. _With his eyes_.

"He's Prince John's representative, and he wants to marry me."

"What? He can't marry you, you're supposed to marry me after I save England and King Richard!" shouted Robin.

"You're going to marry someone else?" asked Much, holding his breath.

"No, I'm not getting married. To him. I mean . . . The point is, we have to keep him from finding out about the Sheriff's death, and the seal is the only thing that can save us! Well, that and the Nightwatchman."

"The Sheriff is dead?" asked Djaq. "Robin, why didn't you tell us?"

"Um, because I have a plan, and I was just waiting . . . for the right moment to tell you all about it!" said Robin.

"What is this plan?" asked Marian skeptically.

"Well, we break into the castle –"

"But we just did that!" Much exclaimed.

"No, no. This time, we break into the Sheriff's treasure room. Will and Djaq can distract the guards, and we'll steal the Sheriff's treasure. Then Sir Phillip will be humiliated, and he'll leave, and Nottingham will be saved. Great plan, right?"

Somewhere in the forest, a cricket chirped. Probably not the same one from before.

Finally, Marian spoke. "That's not going to happen."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . Robin, I think you should let me do this. Let me take care of it as the Nightwatchman."

"Nightwatchman?" he scoffed. "What can you do that I can't? _I'm_ Robin Hood! The people love me!"

Marian let loose a feral scream and limped toward the camp. "Where is it? Where's the book?"

Allan ran after her, but she shook him off. "Leave me alone."

"I'm just tryin' to help you." He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off.

"I don't need your help. I need the book."

"That's what I mean, alright? I'll help you find it." He pulled Polly out from behind his back, dusted him off, and handed it to her, giving her his most winning smile. Even Lady Marian couldn't keep her lips from twitching up.

"Very well."

Robin, no longer the center of attention, ran huffily over to his treasure chest and pulled the sought-after copy of _The Birds _and shoved it into Marian's hands. "There! Take it. I don't want it, anyway."

"Thank you, Robin." Marian kissed his cheek.

Guy of Gisborne watched them from behind a large oak tree, a scowl marring his otherwise handsome features.

End Chapter Eight


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Guy stumbled away from the camp and sunk down on his side onto the frosted ground. He felt woozy; his head spun. Since he hadn't eaten anything at lunch, he began to retch unsatisfyingly. _Marian the Nightwatchman . . . Robin Hood . . . Allan . . . the crafty Saracen . . . Bonchurch, the sycophant with the absurd hat . . . that big one with the filthy hair . . . seriously, did he not understand the importance of a lustrous mane? Then there was . . . that other one . . . all of them there in the woods – working together, and probably more. It was revolting._ He shuddered, finally noticing the cold.

Bits of remembered conversations attacked his brain. _I don't want to marry anyone. Lepers, Gisborne. Lepers. Without you, I no longer feel – quite whole. I'm charming you. An 'ouch' costs nothing. I'll kiss him when I see him. You should be careful whom you listen to. Her heart belongs to another! Perhaps I am not the marrying kind. Grow up, Gisborne. _

Guy attempted to stand up, slapping his palm against a tree to keep himself from falling. He blindly grasped for his horse's reins and hoisted himself up into the saddle. The horse glanced back at him. "Don't look at me like that. I'm having a hard day." _And now I'm concerned that my horse is silently judging me._

Guy drifted off as the horse began to trot aimlessly. _Marian was the Nightwatchman. Marian and Hood were still in love. They had been laughing at him, just like the Sheriff had warned him._ Her caresses had been nothing but lies cloaked in delicate skin. Smooth, kissable skin. _I hate her. I hate her. I _hate_ her. I love her. But I hate her._

Snowflakes stuck to his dark hair, his eyelashes, and the facial hair that was beginning to come in. _He was so tired. So sleepy, so ready for bed, for death, for release. _Suddenly he jerked the reins and propelled himself out of the saddle, nearly falling on his finely chiseled cheeks. He lay on his back and squinted into the sun, which was now making its descent in the grey winter sky.

_Well_, he thought, _at least I'm finally somewhere where I won't be disturbed_. He tugged down his trousers and began to think about what would happen to Hood, Marian, Allan and the lot of them if Prince John's army raized Nottingham. Maybe he should just tell Phillip the truth. After all, as a Black Knight, he might be spared. He was a shoe-in to be elected Treasurer at their next meeting, so he felt some measure of confidence in his influence. The thought filled him with satisfaction.

After a few moments of breathing heavily, observing the clouds of fog that puffed out of his mouth, he gingerly mounted his horse and rode.

"Look, you've got your book now. Are you satisfied?" He paused as she looked down at the manuscript in her hands. "Marian . . . promise me nothing happened with Gisborne."

"Robin!" she reproached him.

"Please." There was an urgency in his tone that was usually reserved for matters of the crown.

"I can't believe you're asking me this." Marian shook her head in disgust. "I have to take the seal back to the castle now." She opened up the book and took out the seal, then held it up. "Now _that_ is a nice ring."

"What are you saying?" Robin asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"I'm saying . . . I'm leaving. We'll talk about this another time." Marian turned away from him and clutched at Allan's hand.

Robin reached out and grasped her arm, jerking her back. "There may not be another time. What if Prince John finds out what happened, even with the seal? We can't leave things unfinished. Not when I feel like talking!"

"Well, I don't feel like it. I feel like riding. I could use some _satisfaction_," Marian spat out acidly, massaging her sore arm.

"Oh, no she didn't just say that!" Allan snapped his fingers for emphasis. "You just got told, Rob."

"Shut up, Allan! You're nothing but a dirty traitor!" Robin shouted. "You're all . . . traitors!" The notorious outlaw was on the verge of a tantrum.

"Robin, please." Marian pushed up her wig with her hook hand, nearly putting her lovely right eye out. _Ow_.

"No. I can't take it anymore. You're going to stay here with me, and that's final!"

"It's bloody freezin'!" Allan protested.

"Not you! Marian!" Robin shouted.

"No. Allan is right. It is freezing. And I am going back. And you can keep your ring."

"Well?" Robin waited, expecting her to fling it in his face.

Marian shifted sheepishly on her peg leg. "Er . . . I forgot it."

"Oh, brilliant. How am I gonna sell it off now?"

Much, huffing as he ran up behind Robin, cried, "You can't keep it! It gives you sausage fingers!" Much had had his eye on that ring long before Robin gave it away to Marian. _The hussy._

"Oh, why, thank you _very much_, Much," Marian said sarcastically, rolling her visible eye. The other one rolled, too, but nobody could see it. Then she giggled almost hysterically. "Your name is _Much_!"

"It is, isn't it?" Much replied, as if just noticing for the first time. "But what about the ring?"

"I'll – send it to you, Robin." Marian was on the verge of tears, but the stinging cold wind helped keep her right eye dry.

"Please, you can't do this, Marian. I love you!" Robin cried.

"Not enough." Suddenly, the image of Guy, standing half-clad in armor by a glowing fire entered her mind. She banished the thought immediately . . . almost immediately . . . and said, "I'm sorry. This was a mistake. We can't go back to the way things were before you left, Robin."

After a pause that felt as long as his absence in the Holy Land, Robin muttered, "I know."

Guy stormed into the castle, filled with a crackling new energy that was terrifying to the guards who were unlucky enough to find themselves in his path.

"My lord! Sir Phillip has awoken from his nap, and he's asking for more cheese and wine!" one of them blurted out. Guy backhanded him for his troubles. _Stupid guards! Now that he wanted them gone, they were all over the place._

After rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment, he threw off his overcoat onto a sleeping servant and growled, "Take me to him."

Sir Phillip was enjoying himself immensely. He stretched out his arms after his luxurious nap, nestled snugly in the most elegant guest bedroom of the castle (except for Marian's, but he didn't know that.). His stomach started to rumble, so he called to a guard. Stomach rumbling was a sure sign of hunger, his mum had told him, although he didn't feel particularly hungry after such a large lunch. Still, he thought a snack would surely stop the noises in his belly.

He yelled for a servant, and then stood up on the bed and began to jump up and down on it. _Oh, this bed is ever so bouncy. Even better than the ones at home_, he thought. _Even better than that inflatable bladder castle at the yearly festival near Dunghill._

The servant, a young man not much older than Phillip himself, but not as fond of cheese (it gave him gas), lightly knocked on the door and then opened it. "You called, my lord?"

"Yes, I would like some more cheese, and some of that nice red wine, too," that gentleman said. "And I would like to speak with Sir Guy. _About Lady Marian_," he whispered the last part and winked at the servant, who nodded curtly and quickly closed the door.

"I'm going to be married!" Phillip shouted joyfully. "I'm going to have a wife! She's so very pretty, and has such an uncommon way of dressing herself. I think I love her." Phillip wasn't really sure what one was supposed to do with a wife, actually, but he knew he wanted one. His cousin Julian had one, and he wasn't about to be one-upped by that foolish sod. He also knew that the stork would not bring him any sons until he was married. The priest had told him so, and so had his mum, so it must be true.

He sighed. It was too bad his future wife wouldn't be able to share his love of cheese. _Then again_, he thought, _that will leave more for me_. _Bounce, bounce, bounce . . . _"Aaaauugghh!"

************************************************************************  
Guy trudged deliberately up the stairs as he considered what he was about to do. He would confess everything to Dunghill, then get out of Nottingham as fast as possible. He wondered how dangerous it would be to admit the truth, considering he'd covered up the Sheriff's death for over half a day already. _If only Dunghill could be bribed . . . Hmm, a nice cheese log? No . . . A shiny necklace? Not quite the thing. _Then an idea came to him him – a way for him to save himself and get revenge on Marian all at once. He would promise her to Dunghill. He would wait for her to come back with the seal, and she would be given to him in marriage before she could protest. He would get to see her face as she realized what was about to happen to her. _And it would not bother him one bit. _

Dunghill probably wouldn't know what to do with a woman, anyway; at least this way she would never be able to marry Hood. _I'm certain she and Dunghill will be very happy together_, he thought, clenching his teeth. Guy tried to picture what their children would be like, and smiled grimly. _If they ever figured out how to make them . . ._

Guy knocked on the door to the guest bedroom, where he heard a loud thud as if a sack of babies had just hit the floor. He threw open the door to discover Sir Phillip lying on his back on the floor, wearing his pyjamas (_Jesu, was that a onesie?_). His gangly limbs were sprawled out at odd angles, and he stared dazedly up at the ceiling. _He's dead!_

He wasn't dead. Guy, not being a physician, or, frankly, that bright of a fellow, could not at first see that Sir Phillip was indeed breathing heavily. That nobleman turned his head at Guy's gasp upon seeing him on the floor. "Oh, good afternoon, Guy! Hee hee, your name is Guy."

"I believe you made note of that before, Sir Phillip." Guy stepped over to help the man to his feet. He looked even more ridiculous standing up. The pyjamas, Guy now noticed, were designed in the pattern of a dairy cow with little milk pails for fasteners. _The man loves his dairy_, thought Guy.

"I would have a word with you." Guy swallowed hard. _This was it._ "The Sheriff – is dead." _There was no turning back from this now._

"Tired! Dead tired. He's totally fagged. After last night, though, it's hardly surprising."

Guy whirled around at the sound of Allan's voice. Actually, it was his own voice, but it was coming from Allan's mouth. _I _was_ a fool to pay for those ventriloquism lessons_, Guy thought bitterly. _The Sheriff was right. He was right about everything_, _except maybe his theology, but_ _then, it's not as if it's possible to prove anything one way or another, and besides, he had been really drunk. _This was the most enlightened thought Guy ever had in his whole life, which is kind of sad if you think about it. So let's just move on.

Guy's manservant stood in the doorway, out of breath. Beside him stood Marian, looking triumphant and not penitent at all. _I see she's got her parrot back_, Guy thought grimly.

"Guy! We came as soon as we could. We . . . got that . . . item . . . that you were looking for," Marian blurted out. When she saw the stern look in his eyes, she felt a twinge of fear clutch at her heart like the grasp of Guy's hand on her arm.

Phillip, unaware of the tension in the room, said, "Oh, dear. I do hope the Sheriff is going to be all right. Perhaps a nice Gouda would perk him up? That always helps me when I'm feeling worn out."

"You're too late, Marian," Guy snarled, ignoring Phillip. "I know everything."

Marian, used to Guy's suspicions by now, widened her eyes to make herself look more innocent. Unfortunately, this act was only half as effective with one of her eyes covered with a patch. She flipped the patch up and then gave Guy her best guiltless countenance, this time with both eyes. "Guy, I don't understand what you're talking about." She glanced at Phillip warily. "Y-whay are-ay ou-yay oing-day is-thay?"

Guy, not being fluent in pig Latin, only stared at her as if she'd come unhinged. In reality, only her peg leg had come unhinged a bit during the ride home.

Seeing that he wasn't following her meaning, she lowered her voice and murmered, "Perhaps we might discuss this tonight after dinner? In private?" She placed a hand on his arm, suggesting that there might be more fun bodily searches then, and this time for more than just ticks.

Guy was torn between the possiblity of getting to do that special thing he'd been wanting to do with Marian (and possibly Allan) and the pleasure of getting revenge on her for her betrayals. He knew that behind that eye patch and those sparkling blue eyes of hers there lay a devious serpent who was intent on poisoning his soul. But he also knew that her cleavage looked truly marvelous in that ridiculous buccaneer corset. He was glad he had stopped for some sexy alone time on the way home.

He held his breath as she and Allan seemed to do the same, waiting for his answer. Finally, he exhaled, and with that some of the evil humours seemed to leave his body. He would not let Dunghill have her. He would only be punishing himself then. And he wanted to punish Marian and Allan. _Yes, he would discipline them both._ _Later_.

"Very well, Marian. I will deal with you tonight. _Both of you_." He gave her a pointed glare. Marian's eyes widened, and Allan's eyebrows flew up. They hesitated in the doorway.

"Forgive me, Sir Phillip," Guy spoke apologetically, turning back to Phillip. "You wanted to speak with me?"

Marian and Allan exchanged relieved glances. It was easier now without the eye patch. She stealthily pressed the Sheriff's seal into Guy's palm, and she and Allan silently slipped out of the room.

"Yes, I would like to know when I may be married to Marian." He giggled.

"Of . . . course. But I . . . Sir Phillip, I have something for you," Guy spoke, slowly regaining his composure.

"Is it a present? I love presents!" Phillip exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

"Er, not exactly; I have the Sheriff's seal for you. You will be able to depart once you have used it on Prince John's parchment."

"Oh. Oh! May I please push the seal down into the wax? I've been looking forward to it ever so much," cried Phillip.

"Of course. I will have a servant fetch the wax for you."

Phillip had gleefully squished the wax down onto Prince John's parchment with the Sheriff's seal. His eyes were like saucers as he watched the gooey liquid oozing out around the ring. This was the best weekend of his life.

Marian, however, was not so happy as she watched her would-be fiancé (Phillip, just to be clear) with abhorrence. _Why would Guy betray them to him? Had he discovered her Nightwatchman costume in her room? Or had he seen her with Robin? Or was he just tired of not acting evil? It had been a while since he'd cut out a peasant's tongue or burned down someone's house_, she thought. _But . . . kittens!_

Guy would not even look at her, at least not at her face. He glared at Allan a few times, but Allan was doing his best to avoid meeting his master's gaze; he suspected he was in for it once Sir Whatsit of Dungshire departed.

After the sealing ceremony was over, Guy barked to a nearby guard (_seriously, where were they all morning?_) to ready Sir Phillip's carriage. His carriage was still ready from earlier that day, though, so the guard soon returned to them where they were waiting in the dining hall.

"My lord," the harassed guard (whose name was Marvin, by the way) exhaled, out of breath after running to and from the stables, "the carriage is ready."

"Very good."

"But . . ." the guard timidly hazarded.

"NO. BUTS." Guy gave him a dangerous look.

"B- b- b- . . ."

"What is wrong?" Marian asked, taking pity on him.

"B-but I'm afraid . . . Sir Phillip won't be able to depart just yet," the poor fellow stammered. _A pox on Perceval. Why did he have to go and get anemia _this_ weekend? I should be playing the Virgin Mary in the local Passion play right now._

"Why not?" Guy shouted, causing everyone in the room to take a step back from him.

"B-b-because – it's snowing – like the dickens." _What exactly are dickens?_ Marvin wondered. _Half-chicken, half dog?_ _Not important now, Marvin_, he told himself. "We're snowed in."

"We're what?" Guy, Marian and Allan all spouted at once.

"Snow's been coming down hard for nigh on half an hour," Marvin explained, "with not a sign of stoppin'. It's an out-and-out blizzard, it is, beggin' your pardon, my lord," he finished, hanging his head before Guy, fearing his displeasure.

"A blizzard? I love blizzards!" Phillip exclaimed, clapping his hands excitedly. "I want to make snow angels."

Guy squinted with concern as he watched Phillip through a turret window. Prince John's esteemed representative was busy flapping his arms and legs in the already thick layer of snow. _I must give him due credit – he is actually quite skilled at making snow angels._ He still looked fairly ridiculous in his fuzzy bovine-patterned hat with little ears. Guy had insisted he bundle himself up before going out in the cold. The last thing he needed was for the man to get sick and end up staying an entire fortnight instead of just one evening. He'd had enough of his ogling Marian and consuming the castle's entire stock of cheese and breaking the guest beds and falling on his arse and making terrible puns.

Guy turned away from the window and faced Marian and Allan. Marian had exchanged her buccaneer kit for a sumptuous blue evening gown with golden brown fur trim; it had been a present from Guy, but she had never worn it until tonight. He noticed how much it brought out her . . . eyes. Allan seemed to notice, too, for he did not look up to face his master until Guy cleared his throat pointedly.

"Oh, good point, Giz."

"I haven't made one yet."

"Uhhh . . . I meant to say, I'm sure you're _about_ to."

Guy rolled his eyes. He had ignored their earlier interrogations, making them wait until his anger had time to simmer for a while. Their nagging questions, though, reverberated in his brain, spreading like ripples that did not serve to dissipate his rage. _Guy, why did you tell him the Sheriff was dead? Guy, do you want to get us all killed? Guy, what is the matter with you? Guy, don't you care about Nottingham? Guy, what else did you tell him? Guy . . . is Sir Phillip _actually_ wearing a onesie?_

He cleared his throat. "Shut up, both of you. I've had enough of your lies and betrayals."

"Betrayals? You dare to speak of betrayals after you nearly called down Prince John's army on all our heads?" Marian asked indignantly. "You'd better be glad the Nightwatchman isn't here."

"Oh, but he is. Or should I say 'she.'" Guy was starting to enjoy this. Marian was actually squirming. _Like a worm on a hook_. _A very pretty worm with an hourglass figure._

"Are you saying the Nightwatchman fights like a girl?" Allan asked in earnest.

Marian thudded him in the ribcage with her elbow. "Honestly, Allan. You're almost as much a chauvenist as R-" she stopped herself.

"_Robin_?" Guy finished for her. "Funny, you seemed quite friendly with him earlier this afternoon." He raised an eyebrow at her.

Marian felt as if a lump of cheese were stuck in her throat. _No, not a lump of cheese! Stupid Phillip is infecting me with his ridiculousness._ _My _heart_ is stuck in my throat. No, wait; that's disgusting. _ "Guy, I can explain."

"Go ahead." Guy folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned back, looking down his nose at her.

"What?" Marian was taken aback.

"I said go ahead. Explain," Guy prompted her. "I'm listening."

_Well, damn_. She hadn't expected that. Getting thrown in the dungeon, being burned at the stake, and being buried in a shallow, unmarked grave, she had expected. _But this?_

"Guy."

"Marian." A little smile crinkled up into the corners of his eyes. _Damn him, he was taking pleasure in this! _And he was. Except for the part where he was dying inside because she loved another. But still.

"Guy." She searched for words, but nothing intelligent or helpful presented itself.

"Aw, leave 'er alone, Giz! She's had a tough day," Allan spoke up.

"You will shut up. You are on my naughty list, too, my dear boy," Guy seethed.

Marian looked from one man to the other as if hoping their faces would give her a hint as to what she should say to placate Guy. Then words came to her lips before she could stop them. "Robin and I broke up!" Marian blurted out.

"What?" Guy hadn't expected this.

"It's true – we were in love and engaged and I was going to go and live with him in the forest only I hate the forest because it's cold and damp and Robin smells, and now we're broken up," she finished off with a sniff.

"Really." There was a small twinge of hope in the word that Guy couldn't quite keep out. It was almost a question.

"Yes. I mean, he doesn't believe in personal hygiene. It's unbearable," Marian complained.

"You will still be punished," Guy stated, but now there was a small flicker of kindness in his eyes. "Both of you." Or it might have been sadism. It was hard to tell with Guy. Maybe it was both.

Marian touched his shoulder like a practiced surgeon. "Please, Guy. Surely you wouldn't want to punish the only friends you have left, would you?"

Allan interjected, "Please, Marian, not all of us want to be hanged, alright? You're not exactly helpin', saying Guy hasn't got any friends but us."

"Well, he hasn't!"

"Yeah, but that's no reason to rub salt in the wound, eh?"

"SHUT UP!" Guy bellowed, causing Marian and Allan to jump back, startled. Marian stepped on a cricket and squashed it beneath her bedazzled slipper. Yes, this time it _was_ the same one from before. RIP, nameless cricket. We'll call you Davey.

"Shutting up," Allan replied, actually disobeying the order in the process.

"As punishment for your many betrayals, you two will spend the night in the stocks."

"Guy, please!" Marian began to protest before Guy held up his arm to silence her again.

"And," he continued ominously, "you will be tickled. Continuously."

Allan and Marian looked at each other in terror. _Not . . . the dread Feather of Fear?_

End of Chapter Nine

_Will Marian and Allan be able to get out of their punishment, or will Guy torture them endlessly? Will Phillip catch cold from playing in the snow? And will Davey's life insurance policy cover acts of bedazzling?_

_Find out in the next chapter of "Weekend at Vasey's"!_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Guy allowed himself a gratifying eyeroll as he led Phillip up the stairs to his bedroom. During their dinner for two he had developed a smashing headache from listening to the unwelcome guest wax poetic on the raging debate of Colby versus Cheddar. Now Phillip was back on the subject of Marian, which was even worse.

"Are you really sure she's lact- . . . lat- . . . latc- . . ."

"Lactose intolerant." Guy could barely keep the loathing out of his voice.

"No, that's not it. What I mean to say is, are you sure she can't eat cheese?" Phillip asked, huffing along behind Guy, who was carrying a torch to light the dark staircase.

"I'm afraid it's quite true, Sir Phillip." Guy paused as though hesitant. "If you will permit me . . ."

"Yes, Guy?" Phillip tittered as he said the name. _What a funny name, _Guy_!_ He was glad his own name was nothing to be ashamed of. It represented a very noble and distinguished line. _Marian would be a happy girl indeed when she became Lady Dunghill!_

Guy continued, "If I may be so bold, I would suggest that perhaps Lady Marian is not well-suited to you as a wife. You must think of your future happiness."

"Oh, but I shall be very happy with her, I am sure. We can have pillow fights every night before bedtime! Does the lady enjoy pillow fights?" Phillip inquired.

"I have not had the opportunity to find out," Guy mumbled. Then he imagined what it might be like to have a pillow fight with Marian, her soft, full-sized pillows smothering his face . . . he hoped there would be time for those thoughts later. _After the tickling_.

"Oh," Phillip answered flatly, but then brightened. "Do you mean she has never been with a man in a pillow fight before? I would so love to be the one to introduce it to her."

Guy ground his teeth, thinking of Marian sharing her pillows with Phillip instead of himself. Then an even worse nagging thought came to mind: _What about Hood? Had she already . . . pillow fought with him?_

"I do not know," Guy said. "What do you think your family will think of your getting married to a girl they've never heard of?"

"Oh, they shall be very happy indeed. My mum is always saying it'll be a miracle if I find a woman to marry me at all – so it must be a miracle!" Phillip beamed. "But I do wonder what it's like to be married. Have you ever been married?"

Guy stopped short at the head of the stairs. "No."

"What about the Sheriff?" Phillip asked. "Doesn't he have a wife?"

Guy emitted a choked laugh as he forced himself to continue walking. "No, Sir Phillip, he does not. He does not care for women."

"That's very queer, isn't it? But then, I never thought of getting married before I met Marian. Are you _positive_ she's lac- . . . can't eat cheese?"

Mercifully, they had reached the door to Phillip's room. Guy opened it and motioned for him to enter, but Phillip did not go in. His normally cheerful visage had changed to one of trepidation.

"What is it? Something the matter?" Guy asked, thinking that he would brain the man if he asked for more cheese. They were completely out of Camembert now.

"It's just that I – I've never had a sleepover at a stranger's before," Phillip answered, his lower lip trembling. "Mum usually tucks me in."

Guy bit his tongue and paused before replying stiffly, "Then I will do it."

Phillip's expression lightened somewhat at this reassuring gesture. Then, hesitantly, he whispered, "And will you tell me a story, too?"

************************************************************************

After dining in her room, Marian watched the snow fall from her window, covering the dark and empty garden outside. She could barely make out the sparse trees and the high back wall that was meant to keep the peasants and outlaws out, but didn't. She sighed and pulled her warm blanket tighter around her shoulders. She wasn't sure whether the blizzard was a blessing or a malediction; it had kept Sir Phillip from being able to depart, which was endangering everyone, but it also ensured that Robin and his gang would not be back to cause any more trouble. She had enough to worry about without that threat. At least the snow would keep things . . . contained. If Sir Phillip couldn't get out, that also meant that Prince John's army couldn't get in. For now.

She jumped at a loud banging on her door. "Maz! Open up!"

"What is it, Allan? I wish to be alone."

Allan opened the door and poked his head around it. "Giz is really angry this time, i'n't he?"

"Yes, of course he is. He found out that I am the Nightwatchman, and that I was engaged to Robin. And that you knew all about it." She paused, wrinkling her brow, and then asked, "Why are you still here? I thought surely you would want to hide from Guy at least until the snow thaws. Are you so fond of punishment?"

"Me? What about you? I can handle a bit of ticklin', but what about you? Why aren't you busy butterin' Guy up and makin' him forget why he was angry in the first place?" Allan asked.

"Do you really think that would work? Surely Guy is not that easy," Marian scoffed.

They both looked at each other for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

"Yeah, and I'm the bleedin' Prince of the Turks," Allan chuckled.

"You have a point, Allan. I might be able to persuade him to change his mind," Marian said, smirking.

Allan raised an eyebrow. "Unless – you enjoy bein' tickled." His eyes were mischievous now. He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers as though he might test that hypothesis himself.

"No!" Marian jumped back with a squeal. "I do _not_ enjoy being tickled!" Then she looked at him challengingly. "I prefer to be the one doing the tickling." She raised her beautifully manicured fingertips and threatened him with them.

"You wouldn't," Allan said in mock horror.

"Oh, you don't think so, hmm?" she replied playfully.

"Too bad you won't get the chance tonight," spoke a deep, forboding voice from the doorway. Guy waved a pair of long, grey, striped feathers menacingly, causing Marian and Allan to gulp visibly. "You're both going to be otherwise engaged."

"Guy! We were just – can't you and I discuss this alone? Please?" Marian begged, biting her lower lip and fluttering her eyelashes. _Guy is so easy_. _He will eat this up. _

"Not tonight. Tonight I tickle. Tomorrow we can talk," Guy snarled. "Do not think you can get out of this so easily as that, Marian."

"But I really would like to –"

"Or . . . " he interrupted, ". . . you can try to talk while I tickle you." Guy grinned. This was going to be so exhilirating. _I'm glad I'm not the one who's about to get a taste of the Feather of Fear_, he thought. He had never tortured anyone without drawing blood before.

Marian was desperate. "What about Sir Phillip?" she asked, subtly reminding him of the teamwork they'd been involved in.

"He's sound asleep. I tucked him in and told him a bedtime story." Guy was glad he'd been able to think of something a little better than the one from last night. But then, Vasey had hardly been in a condition to notice the weak narrative and obvious plot twists.

"And what about the Sheriff?" Marian continued.

Guy looked at her as if she were, well, Phillip. "He's dead, Marian."

Marian rolled her eyes. "I know that! I meant, what are we going to do about him? He's starting to change color, and he stinks dreadfully."

"Dunghill does not seem to notice."

"And what about after he's gone? What will we do then? We can't keep fooling Prince John forever. Next month Sir Jasper will be back, and he will not be so easily duped." Marian raised an eyebrow at him, expecting him to be distracted enough to forget the tickling.

However, she had severely underestimated how very much Guy was looking forward to this unusual form of torture. It really wasn't so different from the things he'd imagined late at night during his sexy alone time, only this time he would be the one doing the tickling, and instead of a whip, there would be . . . well, you get the idea. No, he would not be diverted from his course no matter how much cleavage she flashed him. Probably.

"Let me worry about that. You should be worrying about yourself, my lady," Guy growled, reaching out and gripping her wrist. "Guards!"

All three of them looked toward the doorway, but nothing happened. Marian and Allan glanced back at Guy expectantly.

"GUARDS!!!" Guy shouted again, this time in a voice nearly loud enough to wake, well, Vasey. (But it didn't.)

After a few seconds, a pair of Guy's men appeared at the door, stumbling over each other to be first into the room. They were both out of breath, and their helmets were askew.

The first one to make it all the way through straightened his helmet with great dignity and then spoke, "You called, sir?"

The second guard blotted at what looked like a barbecue sauce stain on his tunic as he said distractedly, "Yes, my lord Gisborne?"

"Idiots! I want you to escort these two to the dungeon. NOW!" Guy bellowed. _There would be some salary cuts in the upcoming fiscal year_, he thought. With all of Hood's thievery, there was little budget left for paying inept castle guards.

************************************************************************

"I can't believe I let you get me into this," Allan groaned from the stocks. To his right, Marian was being roughly shoved into her own set of stocks by the guards, Christopher and Jimsie.

"I can't believe you're blaming me!" Marian replied. "None of this is my fault."

Alan cried, "Yes, it bloody well is! All this was _your_ idea!"

"Well . . . you agreed to go along with it," Marian retorted. "You're just as much to blame as I am."

"I had no choice, did I? With you and Guy punching and kicking and 'I'll hire an Irishman to replace you'? A clue? No!" Allan bellowed, startling the guards by throwing his voice to make it sound like Vasey was coming down the stairs. _Those Lerninge Annex classes were really paying off_.

"You always have a choice, Allan," Marian said, then paused. "Oh, dear. Does it always sound that douchey?"

"Even worse when Robin says it," Allan assured her.

"Save it, both of you. I want you to have plenty of voice left for squealing," Guy commanded. He nodded to the guards as soon as they had finished strapping Marian into the stocks. "You two go back to your posts. And you'd better be there when I get back!"

"Yes, sir!" replied Christopher, who was busy dumping some gravel out of his boots. When Jimsie failed to respond, Christopher thumped him on the shoulder.

"Owww! Wot was that for?" Jimsie yelped, then continued working on that stubborn barbecue stain.

"Supposed to say 'Yes, sir!' when Sir Guy orders you to do somethin'!" answered the frustrated Christopher.

"Oh. Yes, sir!" Jimsie said noncommittally, then went back to rubbing at the stain.

"And then what do we do after that?" Guy prompted them, like a schoolmaster trying to pry the answer out of his lazy students.

"We . . . I think we . . . we click our heels together?" finished Christopher uncertainly.

"No! You _follow_ the orders!" Guy shouted, waving his sword at them to animate them. They backed up toward the staircase that led out of the dungeon.

"Uhh . . . wait, you mean we're supposed to say 'Yes, sir!' and _then_ do something else?" Jimsie asked, confused.

"You're supposed to do as I say! Now get out!" Guy barked.

"Yes, sir!" answered Jimsie, then stood motionless as Christopher retreated hastily up the stairs.

Guy, noting that Jimsie was not comprehending the lesson on "following orders," threw his sword at him, narrowly missing the rotund guard, but killing an innocent dungeon-dwelling cricket in the process. RIP, Davey's wife (we'll call her Margery). How sad is that? Anyway, Jimsie, not quite so thick as to misunderstand _this_ order, hied himself up the stairs and decided to take a half-day tomorrow.

"Now," Guy said to the prisoners, who were still busy shooting each other dirty looks, "for the Feather of Fear." He knelt down on the floor and removed first Allan's large boots, then Marian's bedazzled cricket-squashing slippers. He relished the moment as he felt the two traitors squirm.

"Oh, Jesu, Allan, is that your feet I smell?" Marian asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"I can't help it! Guy wouldn't let me change me socks earlier, alright?" Allan replied.

Guy whipped out the goose feathers with a flourish, holding one in each hand, and slowly dragged the tips up and down the right foot of each prisoner. "How is that?" he asked, smiling devilishly at their backsides.

"It doesn't tickle a bit," Marian said stoically.

Not to be outdone, Allan added, "Nope. Nothin', Guy. I think you'll find I'm not tick- ahhhh! Ahahahahahaha!"

Guy smiled again. It was working. He trailed the feathers in a zigzag motion along their left feet now.

"Guy, this is not going to accomplish anything. You could just forgive us and . . ." Marian trailed off, clenching her teeth. _She would not giggle. She would_ not.

"And what? Pretend like you never betrayed me?" Guy asked, swirling the feather in his right hand around Marian's insole. "No," he purred, "this is too sweet to forgo."

"But . . . Guy . . . you . . ." Marian spluttered, turning purple. "You – aha." She tried to gather her composure. "You. Heeheehee! You love meeeeeeheheheheeee!"

Guy, who had a rather crippling fear of being tickled, felt his stomach churn ever so slightly at Marian's outburst. But he was determined to be strong and carry out this punishment. The right-hand feather danced along the ball of Marian's foot.

"Uncle! Uncle!" Allan cried as Guy traced the feather between his toes.

"Eeeek! Guy, please!" she squealed.

Guy braced himself and raised both feathers to the prisoners' heels.

"Gaaaahhhh! No more, Guy! I can't take it!" Allan yelled, writhing, as if he could somehow get free from Guy's torture that way.

"What's the matter? You don't enjoy this?" Guy asked. "Would you feel that way if Hood were doing it?"

"I for one would not be happy about that, either!" Allan squeaked. "Teeheeheeheehee!"

"I told you – ahahaha – we broke uuuuup!" Marian replied.

Guy suddenly felt the urge to run from the room. This was not as easy as he had hoped. He could not help but imagine himself in the stocks, being tickled by Marian. And possibly Allan. The thought was both arousing and unbearably tormenting, but he did not want to seem weak. "Surely the Nightwatchman should be stronger than that!" he taunted.

Marian glared at the dead cricket on the wall. _Guy would pay for that_. "Ahahahahaha!"

The Feather of Fear torture lasted another eight minutes before Guy had to give in to his visceral repulsion. He could not stand this any longer. And he was pretty sure Allan had peed himself. And maybe Marian, too. "Enough!" he shouted. "I trust you have both learned your lesson."

"Yeah, we sure have!" Allan promptly answered.

"What lesson?" Marian asked, summoning her dignity. "Everything we've done, we've done for the good of England."

"Shut up, Maz!" Allan hissed.

"What? It's true! Well, mostly."

"You still do not repent of your crimes," Guy said flatly, then swallowed hard. "Then your punishment will continue."

"No! I've learnt my lesson!" Allan cried. "I'll never do it again!"

"Oh, really."

"Yeah, I swear it, Guy!" Allan answered. _He'd better let me change my trousers soon_, he thought.

"And what about you, Marian?" Guy asked with a dangerous edge to his voice.

"I still say I haven't done anythi-" she began, then thought better of it. _I've already ruined my new dress_, she thought. "Actually, I _am_ feeling rather contrite, now that you mention it."

After a few moments of brooding, Guy put down the feathers, and the other two exhaled deeply in relief. Then he stormed out of the room, looking a little pale and holding his hand over his mouth.

"Told you he was easy," Allan remarked cockily.

Marian giggled. "You were right."

"Did you piss yourself?"

"Did you?" Marian asked defensively.

"Maybe."

"Allan?"

"Yeah?"

"Isn't he coming back?"

No crickets chirped to break the silence.

End of Chapter Ten

_Will Marian and Allan get out of the stocks? Will Phillip have bad dreams? And will Guy remember to save the feathers for his scrapbook?_

_Find out in the next chapter of "Weekend at Vasey's"!_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Guy, unable to withstand even the vicarious horror of the dread Feather of Fear, fled the dungeon and climbed back upstairs, where he finally remembered that he had never fed Vasey's pitiful birds.

He went to the kitchen, where the new maidservant Amelia was washing up the dinner plates. She was a short, buxom, youngish woman with amber eyes and hair the color of her dishwater and just as greasy. She blushed when Guy entered. _This must be the one all the other maids were telling me about_, she thought. _Even the King could not be so handsome as he_. _And I doubt King Richard wears tight leather trousers_.

Guy, not one for pleasantries, and still feeling slightly queasy from his ordeal, ordered gruffly, "Get me some saucers of water and some bread."

The girl only smiled saucily at this curt order and said, "Yes, sir. Is there – anything else I can get for you? Anything at all?"

"Yes, there is," Guy said.

"Yes, milord? I would be happy to give you anything you might desire," purred the maidservant, sidling up to him.

Guy put his face very close to hers and intoned in a low whisper, "Neufchâtel."

"Sounds kinky," said Amelia, shivering with pleasurable anticipation.

"Well, do you have any?"

"Any what, sir?"

"Neufchâtel, like I said."

"Wot's that, then?" Amelia said. "Perhaps you'd like to show me yours?" She winked at him, which Guy thought very strange.

"It's cheese," Guy said flatly, "a fancy French kind."

"Oh," Amelia said, deflated. Then, hopefully, "What do ye want me to do with it?"

"Set it aside for Sir Phillip's breakfast," Guy replied. "Now, about that bread and water . . ."

Amelia pouted. _Perhaps it's true what they say about him and Allan a Dale_, she thought. _But maybe he's only playing hard to get. It can't hurt to be a bit more . . . forceful. _ She grinned mischievously as she pulled out a very sharp bread knife. "How big a slice did you want, sir?"

************************************************************************

"My wrists are chafing."

"Well, I think somethin' is chewing on me leg."

"We need to get out of here."

"Oh, brilliant. Then what's Guy gonna do to us when he finds out we've escaped? I can't be tickled anymore, Marian. I can't do it."

"That's exactly why we have to escape now! If I can get to Guy while he's alone, I might be able to – placate him."

Allan wasn't sure what that meant, but he knew what it _sounded_ like. "Well, you'd better placate him long and hard, then. He's really furious with us."

"It's not as though I haven't done it before."

"You have? With Giz?"

"Yes, lots of times. I'll get down on my knees and placate him if I have to. And he's been angrier than this before. Remember that time he burned down my house?"

"Yeah, Maz, you're not exactly inspiring lots of confidence, you know?"

"Well, have you got a better idea, Allan?" Marian said, twisting her head in an attempt to give him a deadly glare.

Allan, who was looking at his feet and trying to kick at whatever was making a snack of his toes, said, "Uhh . . . we stay here 'til Giz lets us out?" Something under his feet squealed as he stomped on its tail. "Gotcha, ya little –"

"That is not –" Marian began, then stopped as she heard someone coming down the stairs. "Actually, I _do _have a better idea."

************************************************************************

Marvin was exhausted. His shift had ended two hours ago, but Gisborne had refused to sign his time card, being in a foul mood at the time, so the temp guard was stuck at work until the Master-at-Arms was feeling less cranky. He decided to go down to the dungeon to chat with his ufortunate cousin who'd been imprisoned for ducking when the Sheriff threw a turkey leg at him during a rather self-indulgent tantrum.

His weary legs dropped heavily on the staircase, his armor clanking with each step. As he reached the dungeon, he caught sight of the two prisoners that Gisborne had been torturing earlier; their heads and limbs hung limply in the stocks. _Poor bastards_, Marvin thought. _They look like they've been tickled quite out of their wits._

Suddenly, he heard the master's voice coming from behind him. "You! Guard!" He whirled around, but Gisborne was nowhere to be seen, yet the voice continued to boom: "Let the prisoners go! Unlock the stocks, quickly, there's a good chap."

Marvin picked up a torch from the wall sconce and shone the light on the prisoners. "Yes, my lord! Right away!" He located the keys that were cruelly dangling just out of their reach and used them to set Marian and Allan free.

"Thanks, mate," Allan said, as he stretched his sore limbs and put his boots back on. He and Marian scuttled up the stairs, very grateful that it had not been Jimsie who found them.

Marian's stomach growled as they turned the bend in the staircase. "Lord, I'm hungry!"

Allan exhaled regretfully. "Yeah, me, too. But Giz'll kill me if I don't oil his leathers right away. He likes 'em to be nice and shiny in the mornin'."

"Then I'll bring you something," Marian promised, smiling, as they reached the head of the stairs. Then she wondered what oiling Guy's leathers would entail. Was it a euphemism? She made herself focus. "What do you want to eat?"

"Anything but cheese, love." Allan winked at her cheekily before running off in a different direction.

************************************************************************

Guy looked down at the feather in his hand, and then remembered that there were supposed to be two of them. He wanted both for his scrapbook, so he would have to get Allan to look for the other one later.

Amelia pulled out a large, hard loaf of brown bread and cut off a slice. She looked up at Guy, batting her eyelashes coyly. "Did you want me to butter your bread, milord?" she asked.

Guy barely glanced at her as he grunted, "No, it's for the birds." He stroked the shaft of his feather absent-mindedly. _How had he been so blind as to not see what had been going on between Marian and Hood, all right under his nose the entire time? He would not be so oblivious in the future_, he promised himself.

Amelia stepped over to Guy, still holding the knife, and placed the slice of bread on the table in front of him. "Here you are, milord."

"Thank you, uhhh . . . woman," Guy muttered, reaching out to pick up the bread.

His motion was halted by Amelia's knife, the tip of which was now being jabbed into his neck. "You needn't be in such a hurry to go, milord," Amelia said, her eyes twinkling. "I could teach you a thing or two about cutlery."

Guy, still not sure what was happening, slowly turned his head so that he could look at the girl. She was leering at him like Dunghill drooling over a piece of cheese. _Ohhhh. I see now_.

"Now, why don't you and I take some time to get to know each other better?" Amelia simpered. "Kind of like how you and your manservant _know _each other, I mean."

"You mean . . . you want me to order you around and beat you occasionally for no reason?" Guy asked, confused.

"Not likely. Now you're at my mercy," Amelia crowed as she looked him up and down admiringly. "Indeed, you surely do have a pretty mouth, Sir Guy."

"Woman, put that knife down! You will be beaten for your insolence!" Guy shouted, hoping that perhaps a gluttonous guard would arrive soon looking for a late-night nibble. _Just as long as it's not Jimsie._

"Oh, I don't think you'll want to do that, not after I'm done wif ya," Amelia hissed in his ear. "You'll be squealin' for more!" She reached her free hand between them toward his belt. Guy flinched. She touched the tip of his sword's hilt, pulled it out of its sheath, and then she flung it onto the floor, far out of his reach. The tip of the knife she held to Guy's neck made a tiny scratch.

"Ow!" he cried, "You fool! Do you really believe you'll get away with this?" Guy yelled.

"There's nobody here but us, lovey," Amelia cooed. "You know what the guards are like. Especially Jimsie."

"I am in love with Lady Marian!" Guy shouted. _And maybe Allan_, he thought. _A little bit_. "And the last time I slept with a servant, she ended up trying to kill me, so I will thank you to leave me the hell alone!"

"Go ahead and make a fuss," Amelia said in a sickeningly sweet tone. "There's no one to hear ya." She squeezed herself up against Guy and laid her head on his broad chest dramatically. "Ye'll thank me later." She began nuzzling him as he attempted to curve his body away from her.

Guy squeezed his eyes shut. _Think of Marian and Allan. Think of Marian and Allan_.

Suddenly, there was a cracking noise, and Amelia fell to the floor, along with her knife. Guy looked down and saw a heavy wooden bowl with a streak of blood on it next to her head. Then he looked up to see Marian, who was looking venomously at the prone servant.

"Guy?" Marian looked at him suspiciously. "What's going on here? Why was that woman holding a knife to your throat and looking at you like Sir Phillip looks at Limburger?"

Guy covered his mouth, suppressing the urge to retch again as the relief washed over him. "That witch tried to take advantage of me! Marian, I swear, nothing happened."

"Then . . . I saved you."

Guy looked into Marian's eyes, remembering what had passed between them earlier. "I suppose you did," he admitted grudgingly. Then his face softened. "Are you – alright?"

"I'll survive," Marian replied coolly. "But you owe me another dress."

"Why don't you take that one off, then?" Guy asked. "Uh, I mean, why are you here and not in the dungeon? How did you escape?"

"Perhaps the Nightwatchman has more skills than you thought," said Marian, stepping over Amelia's unconscious body, "and it seems torture makes me hungry. Is there anything left to eat? And please don't say there's cheese."

Guy looked down at the bread on the table. "I was going to feed the Sheriff's birds," he said, "but there is more bread over there." He pointed to the hunk that Amelia had cut from earlier. "And _don't_ eat the cheese, because we haven't got enough to spare if we're going to feed Dunghill tomorrow."

************************************************************************

Marian nibbled at the bread half-heartedly. This had been an extraordinarily long day, and she was tired and still a bit damp from the tickling. It was time to change into her nightclothes and go to bed. She hobbled up the stairs, still limping a little from her fall in the woods, and entered the hallway where the bedrooms were. She smirked at the thought that she had delivered Guy from an overzealous kitchen maid. _Point for the Nightwatchman_.

Her bleary eyes detected a figure in the faint torchlight entering Vasey's bedroom, so she picked up the torch nearest her and hurried along the corridor. She reached the bedroom and pushed the door open. _Why was it unlocked? More incompetent guards?It must be Jimsie!_

She nearly wet herself when she saw who the intruder was. _By the Virgin, not Sir Phillip! What was he doing up past his bedtime? _Then she nearly gagged from the smell in the room, which did not seem to bother Phillip.

"Sir Phillip! Is something wrong? Can't you sleep?" she asked, trying to sound casual and hoping that he wouldn't see the stain on her dress. At least Vasey's aroma was covering up her own.

Phillip dropped the small silver plate he'd been holding. It hit the floor with a resounding clatter, yet Vasey did not stir. Phillip smiled when he recognized his intended fiancée.

"Lady Marian!" he exclaimed. "I had a bad dream, and my room is very big and dark."

"Surely you could have one of the servants sleep in your room with you?" Marian suggested, lowering the torch so that there would be less light cast on the Sheriff's dead body.

"A servant?" Phillip echoed, aghast. "The priest says servants will poll- . . . poll- . . . polllll . . . _pollute_ my pure mind with their filthy talk. Do you think they talk about . . ." he lowered his voice to a horrified whisper, "dust bunnies?"

"I – I would – not – know."

"I wanted to tell the Sheriff about my bad dream. It always helps when I tell Mum about them."

"But the Sheriff is sound asleep by now," Marian warned him. "_Very_ sound. You'd better not wake him." _As if you could_.

"Surely he would want to know about my nightmare, though! You see, it was _about him_."

"Oh?" Marian asked, sensing trouble.

Phillip shivered. Even his woollen onesie was not enough to keep out the chill of the evening. "Yes, I dreamed that he ate all the cheese in the castle, and there was none left for me, and then he turned into a priest, and he married us, but then we turned into strawberries, and then Guy and his manservant ate us. I didn't like it."

"They _ate_ us?"

"Yes, and the strangest thing of all is that they were feeding us to each other. And then the Sheriff married _them_. But they're boys! The priest says boys can't marry each other. He says, "It's Adam and Eve, not Adam and Æthelred. What do you think, Lady Marian?"

"Uh . . . let me guess . . . is this priest also in charge of the sacrificial wine?"

Phillip's eyes widened in amazement. "How did you know that?"

"Lucky guess."

Phillip was not to be distracted for long. "This dream must mean something. Mum says that dreams always have a signi- sing- sig- . . . a special meaning."

"Well, you and I haven't turned into strawberries," Marian pointed out. "And the Sheriff is not a priest."

Phillip looked slightly relieved. "You know, that's true! I hadn't thought of that."

"Then you'll go back to bed?" Marian said, placing a hand gently on his arm.

"Oh, no, I can't go back to bed yet!" Phillip plopped down on the Sheriff's bed and bounced a couple of times. "I couldn't sleep a wink after that dream." He rolled over and curled up into a ball only a few inches from the Sheriff's body.

Marian caught her breath. "Well . . . what if I sing you a lullaby?"

Phillip smiled up at her. "Oh, that'd be lovely. Do you know the one about the cow that jumped over the moon and landed on some peasants?"

"Uh, no, I don't believe so, Sir Phillip . . . what about . . ." Marian's usually quick wit failed her. She didn't know any lullabies. _Why don't I know any lullabies?_ "How about the . . . ABC's?"

"Aybeeceez? I've never heard of that before, but it sounds very pretty," Phillip said. "Is it foreign?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, the ancient Phoenicians – oh, never mind. Do you want to hear it?"

"I want to hear _you_ sing it to me," Phillip said as he gazed up at her, entranced. "I'll wager you sing like an angel."

_That may be the most romantic thing any man has ever said to me. What is happening to my life?_ "Very well, then. But you've got to promise me you'll go to sleep after I sing it to you," Marian told him.

"Oh, yes, if it's a good song, I'm sure I shall. I'm ever so tired. It's been rather an exciting day, hasn't it?" Phillip said, yawning.

"Yes, it really has," Marian replied, unable to keep the exhaustion out of her voice. "Now lie still –" she nervously eyed Phillip's be-onesied toes that were creeping dangerously close to the Sheriff's dog-chewed leg, which was peeking out from under the cover.

She cleared her throat, hoping that those three weeks of singing lessons her father had insisted upon before she took up sword-fighting would have some latent effect. "Well." She breathed in and sang in a very high-pitched voice, "ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOP," then she coughed nervously as Phillip yawned, stretched, and cuddled up to Vasey, who was mostly covered by his blanket, but whose face was still visible.

"Ooh, that's lovely," Phillip cooed.

Marian took another deep breath. "QRSTUVWXY and Z. Now I know my ABC's," Marian slowed down and lowered her voice to a whisper, trying to come up with some clever way to finish the song. "Phil-lip, won't you . . . eat some cheese." She cringed. Now she understood why her father had not put up much of an argument when she'd wanted to quit her lessons.

"You remind me of my mum . . . I love you, Mummy," Phillip said before giving off one very loud snort and falling fast asleep, snuggled tight against the Sheriff's distended belly.

Marian exhaled in relief and tiptoed out the door. She would have to ask Guy – no, Allan – to help her move Vasey before Sir Phillip woke up. It didn't bear imagining what he would do if he woke up next to a bloated cadaver. There wasn't enough cheese in the world to make up for that kind of shock. Not even Roquefort.

She dropped off the remainder of the bread with Allan, and then at last she reached her own bedroom, where she shook her head disgustedly over the destruction that Robin and Guy had wrought there. As she pulled open her pyjama drawer, the memory of Guy's body pressed up against hers flickered into her memory. Along with it came the memory of Robin thrusting himself at Guy's backside in an attempt to save her. She sighed. _Oh, Robin. What happened to us? And what _was_ that thing in Guy's trousers?_

She slipped into her white furry nightgown with its adorable and appropriately-placed curly tail, and then fixed her hair into place with a matching headband with little pink ears.

She sunk down on the bed, covered her face with her sleep mask, which was adorned with a plush snout, and then reached for a pillow. She lay her face down upon it for a moment, expecting to fall asleep immediately, but she did not. She wheezed as she inhaled a mouthful of down. She raised the mask and looked around her. They had ruined all her pillows. And poor Pudsey was beyond rescue. "I can't sleep like this," Marian said to herself frustratedly. She glanced at the door, then twitched her lips resolutely. "I'll just have to borrow a pillow from Guy." Why she didn't just borrow a pillow from Phillip's room, which was closer and currently unoccupied, is a mystery.

************************************************************************

Guy had had Amelia thrown in the dungeon, fed Vasey's birds and gone upstairs. He took off his jacket, then peeled off his black tunic, stretching his sweaty, taut muscles. His skin was nearly sizzling as the cool air hit it.

He placed the single feather he had with him in the scrapbook he'd been making, intending to sew it into place once things at the castle calmed down. He flipped back a few pages to find the record of the day he and Marian had nearly gotten married. Affixed to the page was an invitation done in the fine writing of some monks he had threatened into doing it for half price. He turned back another page, and smiled at a moldy scrap of apple peel in the shape of a "G." This led to thoughts of his attempts to catch the Nightwatchman . . . Marian . . . _Yes, he still wanted to catch her . . . and possibly Allan. Yes, definitely Allan, too._

He was interrupted by a half-angry, half-flirtatious knock at the door. _And half-threatening_, he thought. Guy had never been that comfortable with fractions. He'd always preferred multiples.

Guy heaved a worn out sigh. "Come in," he said reluctantly, flipping the scrapbook closed. A half-dressed, half-undressed Marian entered the room. Guy made a mental painting of her, or rather a frieze, which was better for rendering 3-D.

Marian, who had been doing some rendering of her own, interrupted these meditations. "Have you seen my pillows?" she asked.

Guy was caught off guard. "Uh, not all of them," he said, casting his eyes down.

"Well, they used to be nice and plump and soft, and now they've gone all flat!" Marian complained, twitching her tail.

Guy glanced back up again, fixing his eyes on what he thought she was referring to. "They don't look deflated to me," he replied, puzzled.

"So you've seen them? Of course you have; you're the one who did this to them."

"Did – what? Marian, your . . . pillows are as full as ever. You must be mad."

"Mad? You must be blind. They can't ever be fluffed up again. They're utterly ruined."

"I'm sure they could be," Guy answered, drawing nearer to her and lowering his voice. "Marian, what is this really about?"

"What?" she asked. "I just told you. You and Robin destroyed my bed cushions, and now I can't sleep without them!"

"So you came to me. Half-dressed, in the middle of the night."

Marian swallowed hard. "Those pillows were important to me. They were made specially for me by D'Hermitage."

"Poor D'Hermitage, the beggar who's always predicting crazy things, like that there are other continents across the sea?" Guy scoffed. "Nutter."

"No, not that hapless lunatic. I meant the richer D'Hermitage, the one who works for Baron Bernard of Cauldwell."

"Oh, that D'Hermitage. Yes, I have heard he is very talented."

"Yes, he is renowed in the North _and_ South. And he autographed my pillows for me. So you see why it's such a terrible loss."

"Autographed? Marian, will you . . . give me the pillowcase? I believe I might be able to salvage something for you."

"Really?" Marian asked hopefully. "But what am I to do tonight? No pillows . . . my bed is on the verge of collapse . . . And I _have_ to sleep. " She shrugged her shoulders wearily.

"I have a suggestion," Guy answered, smiling wolfishly.

"What?" Marian asked, trying not to squeal as she felt his hot breath on her neck. _He is looking at me like a side of bacon_, she thought.

Guy rumbled slowly and seductively, "I'll huff . . . and I'll puff . . . and I'll blow up the air mattress."

"Oh," she answered. "What's an air mattress?"

"Just something Vasey had made when he thought he might need to escape quickly during the night. I'll get it."

"No, wait," Marian said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I mean, there's no need for anyone to go rooting around for it tonight."

"Then what do you suggest?" Guy asked, raising an eyebrow. "I have only the one bed."

"Well . . ." _What am I doing? Guy nearly got us all killed tonight, and that was before he tortured me. Still, he does look marvelous without his shirt on._ _Be strong! Damn you, kittens!_

Marian stammered. "You – you and Allan could – I mean, no, that won't do at all . . . I'm sure you would never want to . . . What I mean is . . ."

"Marian?" Guy prompted her. _He wasn't going to let her out of it that easily. Not by the hair on his chinny chin chin, which was rather thick by now._

"I . . ."

"What?"

Marian watched, mesmerized, as Guy's candle suddenly flickered, then sputtered and went out. _They were alone in the dark. Alone. With no lights. And very little clothing. Maybe this was a sign. Probably not from God._

"Marian," Guy said, reaching out and grabbing something that was definitely not her arm, "I am sorry."

"For what?" she whispered.

"Well, for torturing you, and for stabbing you, and for all those other mean things I did," Guy answered.

This was unexpected. "But what about all the things you did to other people? What about those poor villagers you threw out of their homes last month?"

"I can't help it if the housing market's gone bust," Guy replied.

"And what about that farmer you killed last week?" she asked. "Did he deserve to die?"

"He wasn't a farmer. He was a stonemason. And he started it."

"Well, what about that old woman you threw in prison two days ago? Surely she wasn't a threat?" _Oh, why did I start this? Why didn't I just take the air mattress?_

"She turned someone into a newt."

"A newt?"

"I don't know, maybe it was a badger." Guy sighed. "Marian, if you came to list my sins, surely you could have chosen a more opportune time for it."

Marian rubbed her eyes. The darkness felt good. "You are right, Guy. I'll go."

"Go where?"

Marian attempted to flee the room, but in the darkness she had become disoriented, so she crashed straight into Guy's wall of a chest. "Oops."

"Don't . . . be sorry," he rasped, running his hands up her arms, which were covered only by sheer sleeves.

End of Chapter Eleven

_Will Guy pork Marian? Will she show him her tender loins? Will he blow her . . . house down? Or will she cry "Wee! Wee! Wee!" all the way home?_

_Find out in the next chapter of "Weekend at Vasey's"!_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

. . . in which Guy and Marian spend the entire time in Guy's bedroom

In the dark, frigid room, Guy's hands felt warm on Marian's arms. Her fingertips were still pressed against his chest. She knew that she should be pushing him away, but instead her fingers slowly dropped down his chest, making him draw in a quick breath. "Guy . . ."

She felt his own fingers reaching up to her cheek, and one of them almost went up her nose. "Guy!"

"Oh . . . sorry. That was . . . inappropriate," Guy grunted.

"I think we should find the candle," she whispered.

"Are you afraid of the dark?" Guy asked teasingly.

"Afraid of the dark? Of course not," Marian retorted. "But I do have reason to be afraid of being alone with _you_ in the dark."

Guy clenched his jaw. "You are afraid of me?" He dropped his hands away from her.

"No, I only meant . . . that I . . ." she stammered. Suddenly she felt very cold. And hot.

"I would never hurt you, Marian," Guy said softly. "Well, except for those times I did, but that was the Nightwatchman."

"And what about tonight?" Marian asked archly.

"Did it hurt?" Guy asked.

"Well, not exactly hurt . . . but it _was_ torture."

Guy laughed. _Jesu, what a laugh! _Marian had had so few chances to hear it, and now in the dark it felt amplified, more resonant somehow. And only Guy would laugh about torture, even if it was by tickling.

"Marian, do you have any idea what I've been through? Every day I saw you and couldn't touch you, couldn't be with you, it was torture. And you knew it. As soon as I met you, all my desire was for you to be my wife, to make babies with you, to see your smile on their faces, and to grow old together with lots of money and power and a nice big castle. And all that time you made me think that there was a chance for us, and you were really in love with that sniveling puke Hood. _That_ is torture."

"I'm pretty sure tickling someone until they piss themselves is also considered torture, Guy. But I see your point." She brought her hand up to cup his face and poked him in the eye. "Oh! Sorry," she sucked her breath in. "And . . . sorry."

"Do you still love him?" Guy asked, and she let the question hang in the air for a few moments before answering.

"I – don't know. I think part of me will always love him, even if he _is_ rather a maddening git sometimes. But I know now that it will never work between us. We want different things out of life," she said, stepping on Guy's toe.

"And what do you want, Marian?" Guy asked. _He thought it strange that he had never asked her that before._

"I want . . . independence," she said thoughtfully. "But I don't want to become a nun. I'm really not that religious, and the choice of costume is rather restrictive."

Guy swallowed hard at the thought of Marian in nun's garb. "I can imagine," he said hoarsely. "But do you not wish to marry and –"

"And pop out babies? And ruin my figure? And belong to my husband as property?" Marian challenged him. "No, thank you, I do not." _God, that felt good to say. How refreshing it was to be completely honest with Guy for once._

Guy reached out and found the candle. He struck the fire starter, and after a few moments the room was lit once more.

"I am tired, Marian," Guy said, yawning. "Take my bed, and I will make Allan sleep on the floor." _Probably_.

After Marian's eyes readjusted to the light, she noticed how exhausted he looked – a little bit older than he did even two nights ago. Well, actually, she noticed all this _after_ she had stopped staring at his ripped abdominal muscles, but she should get a point for noticing anything other than them at all.

"Guy, you needn't do that. I will simply . . ."

"What? You can't sleep on your own bed, and you need rest."

"'Tis a big bed."

"What?"

Marian indicated Guy's bed, which was large, if rather Spartan in design. "You and I could share it," she said practically. "No one would know. And then in the morning we can see about getting my bed refurbished. Oh! And we need to move the Sheriff's body, because Sir Phillip is sleeping in his bed."

"What?!" Guy barked at this startling news. _She wants to sleep in my bed with me in it? Perhaps I really did tickle her too hard._

"Um . . . I forgot to tell you that Sir Phillip crawled into bed with the Sheriff. He had a bad dream."

"And you just let him stay there?" Guy asked incredulously. "What were you thinking?"

"I couldn't help it. What could I have said? 'Oh, sorry, but the Sheriff's dead, so you mustn't share snuggly times with him'?"

"All right, fine! We'll deal with it in the morning," Guy growled. He threw back the black leather blanket to reveal a black leather sheet underneath. Guy _really_ liked the feel of leather against his skin. He gestured for Marian to take the side further from the door.

She cleared her throat. "Aren't you going to put some pyjamas on?" she asked primly.

The right side of Guy's lips curved upward. "I'm wearing them."

Marian nearly choked. "But – don't you wear anything on top?" _Jesu, that was lame_.

"No, I do not. It is much less restrictive this way. Perhaps you ought to try it." _So close to having that little fantasy fulfilled_, he thought, observing Marian's shocked look. _Yet so far_.

Marian spun around so that her back was toward him, and plopped down onto the leather sheets. She tucked her feet under the blanket and covered herself with it, all without looking back at him.

Guy let out a deep breath as he stood there watching her for a moment, her curly tail poking out from under the cover. Then he smiled again. _She could be such a ham sometimes, so dramatic_. He made a rather big production of yawning, stretching, extinguishing the candle, and then settling himself down into bed as far away from her as possible. Soon they were both sound asleep.

************************************************************************

Marian awoke a few hours later after dreaming about being chased by a giant wheel of cheese and some dagger-wielding strawberries that were shouting, "Remember your dead wife!" while Allan and Guy took turns throwing ugly engagement rings into Kate's ridiculous braid. _How very bizarre_, she thought, _but then, it's hardly surprising after the day I've had_.

Then she gasped as she remembered where she was. _Guy's bedroom_. She sucked in her breath across her chattering teeth as her toes touched the cold stone floor, and she shuffled to the chamber pot, praying that Guy would not wake up. Once she was finished doing her ladylike business, she prepared to go back to bed and bury herself under the covers until morning, but first she succumbed to the urge walk over to the window and open it to peek out on the snowy landscape. _If it doesn't melt soon . . ._

Guy stirred. "Marian . . ." he muttered, and she held her breath for a moment until she realized that he was talking in his sleep. Now was her chance to find out more about what _his_ dreams were like, and her curiosity was far too strong to resist.

"Yes, Guy?" she whispered.

"I've been very bad," Guy said as he rolled over onto his back.

"Bad? What do you mean?" she asked, thinking of her accusatory words to him from earlier that night.

"I'm a very bad boy," Guy grunted.

"Yes, you are," she said, stifling a giggle. "You're very naughty."

"Then you'd better spank me," he said, a smile spreading across his handsome features.

"What?" gasped Marian.

"And Allan has been very naughty, too. You should spank us both," said Guy, the moonlight glinting off his wolfish white teeth. "Hard."

Marian raced for the bed, intending to throw herself under the covers and not make another peep until it was broad daylight – very broad – but she stubbed her toe on Guy's large chest of drawers (no, that's not a euphemism this time, sadly). She nearly cried out, but her Nightwatchman training kept her from uttering an "ouch." She shook her swelling toe. "Fuuuuuuuuu-uuuck!" she mouthed through clenched teeth, gripping the furniture and knocking something off it.

Guy stirred, but did not wake up from the noise of the heavy book hitting the floor. Marian stooped down to pick up the book. _What is this? A . . . scrapbook? Wait, is that . . . my hair?!_ She tentatively stroked the clump of hair that was held together with a hair clip that Guy had tried to give her once. She didn't know whether to be flattered or disturbed or both. She shivered, then sat down in the one stiff chair in the room that happened to be positioned right by the window, propping the book up on her lap.

_Our wedding invitations . . . they must have cost Guy a fortune . . . is that a scrap of my veil? Oh, dear . . . wait, what's this? _She snatched at the familiar drawing of herself on the horse, and her cheeks grew very red. _How did he get this? And what did he intend to do with it?_ She snapped the scrapbook shut suddenly. _That's enough of that for now_.

Marian replaced the scrapbook and slowly walked back to the bed, pausing to look at the half-naked Guy quizzically. _What IS that bulge in his trousers? And why does it feel like I've wet myself again?_

************************************************************************

The next morning, the first thing Guy noticed was that the bridge of his nose hurt. The second thing he noticed was actually related to the first thing, namely, that Marian had flung her arm across his face. She was lying face-down with her tail sticking up in the air, her legs spread at an impossible angle and her face buried in a pillow that was streaked with drool.

_God, she's beautiful._

The third thing that Guy noticed, which perhaps should have been the first, was that a certain part of his anatomy had been noticing Marian even before he himself had woken up. He pulled the sheet up closer around him, wondering how much longer she was going to sleep. Marian let rip a loud snort as she dragged her arm down off his face and then rolled over until she was facing Guy, still asleep.

Guy reached his hand out cautiously toward his restless bedfellow and began stroking and squeezing. Marian, who had no sense of timing, woke up and found him with his eyes shut tightly and both hands under the blanket.

"Guy, what are you doing?" she asked as she wiped the drool from her chin. _Does this have something to do with that bulge in his trousers?_

"Marian!" Guy squeaked, sitting up quickly and bringing his hands up above the blanket. "I thought you were sleeping."

"What have you got under there?" she queried suspiciously.

Guy's eyes suddenly took on a mischievous glint. "'Tis a snake."

Marian jumped out of the bed and pressed herself against the wall. "A snake? You sleep with snakes in your bed?" _Overdoing the bad guy thing a bit, aren't you? Haha, bad Guy_.

"No, just the one, my lady," Guy rumbled.

"Is it poisonous?" she asked, now looking at Guy as if he might sprout snakes from his head like Medusa at any moment.

"No, it doesn't bite," he assured her.

"Is this some kind of euphemism?" Marian asked, beginning to sense that he might be making a joke at her expense. _Guy, making a joke. No, it can't be._ Then the memory of Guy's strange dream popped into her mind. _Or I could be wrong . . ._

"Why don't you crawl back under the covers and find out?"

"I don't want to get bitten, do I?" she said in a lilting voice, the corners of her mouth hinting at a smile.

_Sweet fucking Christ, is she flirting with me? No, it can't be . . . _"You might enjoy it."

Marian, feeling bold after spending the night wrapped in leather sheets, pretended to consider his proposal. She _was_ curious. She took a few steps nearer to Guy's side of the bed. His eyes widened. She paused for a moment, sure that she _had_ seen something wriggling under the cover.

She stood in front of him and placed her hands on her hips. In a mock-serious tone, she said, "Hadn't we better move the Sheriff before Sir Phillip wakes up?" Then, quirking an eyebrow upward, "Or did you want to grab my tail for your scrapbook first?"

Guy swallowed visibly. _So she had seen it_. He wasn't going to let her win this game, not this time. "Come over here and I'll take it from you," he said in his lowest, throatiest tone.

Marian looked conflicted, biting her lip in a most charming way. She dabbed with her sleeve at a bit of drool on her chin, which was from her sleep. Mostly. "I don't trust you."

Guy stretched his arms over his head, causing a bead of sweat to break out on Marian's forehead.

Just then, the door swung open with the sound of Allan's voice. "Guy, do you want me to give you a su-" The manservant, who was holding Guy's freshly-oiled leathers, paused when he saw Marian in her pyjamas standing beside Guy's bed. "Oh. Sorry. Didn't realize you were already busy," he mumbled, moving to close the door again.

"Wait!" Guy barked. "Are those my leathers? Bring them here!"

"I should go," Marian whispered, standing transfixed as Allan tossed the black garments to his master.

"Yeah, well, breakfast is almost ready," Allan announced. "And I can't find Sir Philly cheese steak anywhere."

"That's because he's cuddled up tight with the Sheriff," Marian said with a grimace.

"Wot? No, he isn't."

"Yes, he is! I left him there last night."

"I don't even wanna know. I don't. But he's definitely not there now. I just got the Sheriff dressed up for breakfast, and there was nobody there with him. And I had really be'er be gettin' a raise for this."

"What?" Marian asked, her pink ears flopping wildly as she whipped her head to look at Guy.

Guy jumped out of bed and wrapped the leather sheet around his waist. "You had better be joking, Allan. If Dunghill knows –"

"We'll all be killed, yeah, yeah. I'm on it," Allan said, waving his hands in front of him. "You two should think about gettin' dressed sometime, yeh?" He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh, Guy! I'm so glad we shared this beautiful night together!" said Marian's voice.

Guy's neck nearly snapped as he looked at her. "What?"

"I didn't say that!" Marian huffed. "Allan! You are not funny, you know!"

"Oh, Marian . . ." Guy's gravelly voice intoned, "this has been the most wonderful night of my life!"

The real Guy shouted, "ALLAN! I will put you in personal charge of Jimsie if you do not stop it RIGHT NOW!"

The two bedmates stared awkwardly at the floor as they heard an amused chuckle fading away down the hallway.

End of Chapter Twelve

Will Guy and Marian ever get dressed? Will Sir Phillip make it into Chapter Thirteen, or will the rest of the story take place in Guy's bedroom? Will Allan win an Academy Award for his performance? And will Marian ever figure out what Guy is hiding in his pants?

Find out in the next installment of "Weekend at Vasey's"!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Sir Phillip's teeth chattered as he shuffled across the cold stone floor. Fortunately, his onesie covered his feet, offering some small protection from the winter's chill. He stumbled as his foot met a stair going down, and he very nearly re-enacted Vasey's stunning _denouement_ from the night before. "Oh, dear. I do hope this is the right way to the kitchen."

Phillip felt his stomach gurgle, and he suddenly felt clammy. He had never gone long without food before, and he was afraid of what might happen if he went for more than eight hours without a snack. _Some Brie would really be nice right now_, he thought. He had woken up in a strange bed, and he longed for the comforting texture of soft cheese melting between his teeth.

He made his way to the bottom of the stairs in the dark. The torches had all gone out thanks to some crackerjack guarding. Poor Phillip felt his way along the wall until he felt something that made him scream like a little boy, which would have been heard if the guards hadn't been playing strip poker in the kitchen, which is not, in fact, where Phillip was.

Oh, right, that thing that made him scream? A hand. A cold, shaking, bony hand that grasped for him like a damned soul reaching out of the mouth of hell, if the damned soul were coated with dirt and bacteria and possibly urine.

"P-please, my lord! My Master! My Sheriff! Let me out!" Turns out there was a living human being attached to that freaky hand, and he was desperately trying to get the newcomer's attention.

"Ugh! Leave me be! Leave me be, ruffian!" cried Sir Phillip. "That's not very nice, and these are my favorite jammies." He backed up against the wall. "Now, I don't know who you are, but I'm very hungry, and I'd very much like a bite of Brie. Or Provologne if you haven't got Brie."

"Let me out, my dear, my brother, my friend . . ."

The miserable creature's hand continued to reach out to Phillip. He couldn't see the man's face, if it was a man. Phillip finally realized that there was something holding him back – bars! _How very odd a thing to find in a kitchen_.

"You're a very strange person, and I don't think I like you very much!" Phillip yelped, then ran down the corridor toward a faint light that was seeping through a crack in the wall.

"You can't ignore me forever! You know who I am!"

Phillip's lanky frame sped on in the direction of the light until he stopped suddenly, mostly because his head collided with a wooden beam that a careless carpenter had nailed across the top of the passage. It really was a very silly place to put a crossbeam; to the late Vasey's credit, he had intended to have it fixed, but then he realized how amusing it was when Guy bumped his head on it every time they went downstairs to torture a prisoner, and since Vasey himself was too short to be at risk for that, he left it just where it was.

Phillip, however, was nearly as tall as Guy, and arguably less intelligent, so he didn't manage to avoid it, either. He lost consciousness and dreamed of Marian in a milkmaid costume, happily milking the chickens on their estate. Ah, _l'amour_.

************************************************************************

Marian, torn between her curiosity to see Guy's "snake" and the urgent need to find Sir Phillip, chewed her lower lip anxiously.

"Marian."

After a moment, the lady absently returned her eyes to Guy's face. "What?"

"You were staring." Guy's blue eyes glittered naughtily.

"I was not!" Marian protested. "I was – thinking."

"About my snake?" Guy asked innocuously. "If you're so curious, Marian, why don't you just ask?"

Marian, tired of the implications that she was a chicken (but not a dairy chicken), and wanting to call Guy's bluff, reached over suddenly and snatched his sheet away.

"Oh, my god!" she gasped.

"I can explain," Guy said, looking sheepishly down at the floor.

************************************************************************

Allan was hurrying to the kitchen in the hopes of finding Sir Phillip there. On the way, he passed Jimsie, who was totally naked and covering his dangly bits with a potted plant. Jimsie did not have a very good poker face. The guard bowed quickly to Allan, who was his superior, despite the low rate of pay, and showed him his best side.

"Ughhh, no offense, mate, but I didn't need to see that first thing in the mornin', alright? I already seen the crack o' dawn. Get the other guards on a search for Dungill. He's gone missin' in the night, and nobody knows what happened to 'im."

"Yes, sir!" said Jimsie proudly as he saluted Allan.

Allan hurried on with his mission, not noticing that Jimsie was not, in fact, following his orders, but was instead urinating in the potted plant.

"I better at least get dental out of this."

************************************************************************

Marian stared at Guy's crotch. _Why, it's not a snake at all!_

"Marian, please – you weren't supposed to see that. Please don't tell anyone."

"Whom would I tell?" Marian asked, now attempting to make eye contact with the chair by the window.

"I don't know, Allan?" Guy said, embarrassed. "Please don't tell him."

"I won't. We should both get dressed – and the sooner, the better, I think," Marian said primly.

"It doesn't normally look like this," Guy assured her.

"I believe you," she said, nodding. She hastened out the door, her curly tail bouncing behind her, as if mocking him.

Guy looked down at his nether regions and snarled. _Damn! Why did it have to be laundry day? _Marian's first glimpse of his package had included his smiley-face thong that the Sheriff had presented him with as a gag gift for his last birthday_. Fuck._

************************************************************************

Allan, not having found Sir Phillip in the kitchen, was growing concerned. _Where could the silly bloke be?_ It was impossible that he had slipped out in the night, because the castle was still sealed off by drifts of snow. _Where else haven't I looked?_

Allan noticed the guard Christopher (the winner of the poker game and therefore still mostly clothed) eating strawberry preserves in one corner as the kitchen maid Louisa tried to keep him from spilling them all over her clean floor. It was bad enough that he had the red sauce dribbling down his chin and streaked across his cheeks.

"Oy! You there. Quit flirtin' with the poor girl and go look for Sir Phillip. He may still be wearing his onesie. I haven't checked the dining hall, the attic or the dungeon, so start lookin' in those places. And get the other guards to help."

"Yes, sir!" said Christopher, wiping his cheek and smearing the strawberry preserves onto his right ear. He stood there expectantly.

"What are you wai'in for, then? Scram!" Allan shouted irritably.

"Yes, sir!" answered Christopher, giving a nervous salute.

"What are you doing? I just told you to go do somefin'! Now go!"

"Yes . . . sir?" said Christopher. "What am I to do now?" he whispered. "I don't think I'm supposed to click my heels, but . . ."

Allan, taking a page from Guy's violent book, hurled a raisin pudding at poor Christopher, who tried to duck, but wound up with the dessert all over his bum. He craned his neck around to look at the stain, then yelped and scurried up the stairs. It turns out that thrown pudding was exactly the motivation he needed.

"And Guy calls _me_ useless," Allan muttered, shaking his head.

************************************************************************

Marvin, who was still waiting for his time card to be signed, trudged wearily down to the dungeon with a bowl of gruel for his poor cousin. Since the area was still dim and no guards had remembered to keep the torches lit, hapless Marvin tripped over the prone body of Sir Phillip of Dunghill, who was still passed out on the floor after sustaining his head injury. The bowl of gruel went flying out of Marvin's hands and went to feed a family of rats, who were quite thankful for the unexpected treat, at least until they tasted it.

"Oh! Sir, I'm so terribly, terribly sorry!" Marvin exclaimed, leaning down and dusting off Phillip's onesie by way of apology. "I didn't see you there."

"Where?" asked Phillip, who was slowly regaining consciousness of a kind.

"There, on the floor."

"Who's on the floor?"

"You are, sir." Marvin assisted the man to his feet, then squinted at his face. "I say, sir, aren't you Sir Phillip of Dunghill? Everyone's been looking for you, but no one thought to look down in the dungeon." Marvin noticed the large bump on Phillip's forehead. "We'd better get you upstairs right away."

"This is all very strange," said Phillip. "I came down here to get a bite to eat, and –"

"Beggin' your pardon, sir – down here? To the dungeon?" Marvin asked, perplexed.

"No, you fool, to the kitchen!" Phillip retorted agitatedly. He was very hungry, his head was aching, and he was beginning to suspect that some creature or other had nibbled a hole in the toe of his onesie. _Mum is going to be very upset with me_, he thought worriedly.

"But, sir, we aren't in the kitchen. You must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. But don't you worry, we'll get you something to eat right quick enough," Marvin said kindly.

"You're a very strange person, but I like you," Phillip said. "Do you think I could get a cheese omelette?" he asked hopefully.

"Let me out of here! I know all about you, Sheriff, and I'll tell your secret!" a voice shouted after them as they went up the stairs.

************************************************************************

Breakfast was finally served. Guy and Marian sat opposite each other, trying not to look each other in the eye. Allan rushed back and forth, ordering the servants occasionally to bring yet more cheese. Phillip had insisted on sitting next to Vasey, who was dressed quite nicely for the meal in a purple silk top that Guy had given him for Christmas, but which he had never deigned to wear before. Guy smirked at Allan when he saw it, wondering if his manservant had done that on purpose. The blouse really brought out the color, or lack thereof, in Vasey's lifeless face.

"You'll have to forgive the Sheriff, Sir Phillip. He still isn't feeling well after the ride yesterday. Apparently it wore him out more than he'd expected," said Guy.

"Yeah, it was a real killer," added Allan-as-Vasey, who promptly received a death glare from both Guy and Marian.

Phillip, who was absorbed in eating his third cheese omelette, swallowed quickly and replied, "You have my symp- sym- . . . symp . . . athies, Sheriff. I seem to have spent the entire night on the kitchen floor. And I must say that I am surprised that your kitchen staff doesn't keep the place cleaner," he said critically.

"I will see to it," Allan-as-Vasey promised. "The kitchen staff will be, uh, executed . . . or at least severely reprimanded."

Just then, the dog that been gnawing on Vasey's leg came out from under the table with said leg in its jaws. Everyone at the table (except the Sheriff) dropped their forks in horror. Allan hurried off to chase the naughty mutt.

"Did you see that?" gasped Phillip. "My lord, your leg's off!"

"Uh – the Sheriff – has – uh – leprosy, Sir Phillip!" Marian stammered. "He's always losing body parts these days."

"But it will be re-attached immediately," Guy assured him.

"Oh, I see," said Phillip, turning slightly green. "But the Sheriff never told me anything about having leprosy. Doesn't the Church –"

"It comes and goes," Marian interrupted him, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"What, leprosy?" Phillip asked. "Oh, I have heard it can do that." He nodded sagely.

"But you mustn't say anything to anybody about it, not even to Sir Jasper," Marian warned him. "It is a secret." She winked at him, making him choke a little on his omelette.

He coughed and cleared his throat. "I understand. It is a _very important_ secret. I won't tell a single soul," Phillip promised, winking back at her.

Phillip then continued to eat his breakfast and drink his milk, but this time with a wary eye always on the Sheriff, who, he feared, might lose another limb at any moment.

************************************************************************

After breakfast, Phillip was taken upstairs to receive treatment from one of the servants who had a medical certificate from þe Olde Lerninge Annex ffor Feythfulle Seruaunts. This left Guy and Marian free to help Allan in finding the Sheriff's missing leg. They walked awkwardly together out to the garden, where the dog was known to bury things (usually not human body parts, except sometimes on execution days).

The snow was still covering everything, but was thankfully starting to melt off a bit. The uneasy pair followed the dog's tracks in the snow and discovered a spot under the barren apple trees where it looked like something had been buried.

"I forgot to bring a bag with me," Guy remembered suddenly.

"Well, why don't we go back for it?" Marian asked him. _God, why is this so awkward? They were just underpants. Smiley-faced underpants with only a string covering the bum._

"There isn't time. Why don't you just give me your undergarment and we'll wrap it in that?" Guy groaned. _I just had to mention undergarments, didn't I?_

"What? Why does it have to be _my_ undergarments?" Marian snapped. "Oh, that's right, I remember. Because yours are too tiny to wrap anyone's leg in!" she giggled.

Guy looked at her angrily, but then a crack in his stark visage began to emerge. Suddenly he was smiling, even laughing, along with her. A moment later, she reached out to steady herself, and ended up pulling them both down into the snow.

"Guy!" she laughed. "I can't get up."

"Here, let me help you," he growled in his gutteral voice, and placed his hands firmly around her waist, pulling her back up with him. He let his hands rest there a moment and got a nice peek at her cleavage before he let her go.

"Thank you."

"It was my pleasure, my lady," Guy rumbled. "I will just go and see if there is a sack in the shed over there," he said, pointing to the tumble-down wooden erection (hehe) that stood near the garden's wall to their right.

After a few minutes of searching, Guy procured a piece of burlap that would serve their purpose. He tried to grasp the piece of Sheriff out of the snow mound where it was buried, but he finally gave up and asked Marian to do it, since she was the smaller of the two, and it also gave him a nice view of her ass as she tunneled through the snow.

At last she yelled, "I've got it! Pull me out!" Guy grasped her waist again and tugged her shivering body out of the snow pile until she was standing upright in front of him with her back to him. She turned around to face him and daintily handed him the leg, which he wrapped in the burlap.

"Good, now we can have it re-attached," Marian sighed in relief as she wiped off the snow from her velvet red riding hood. Then she frowned. "Oh, wait. No, we can't, can we?"

"Uh, no, but at least it we can keep it away from that blasted dog," Guy said, smiling. For once she was the slow one.

At that moment, they heard a loud barking coming from somewhere else in the garden. _God, I hope Marian's a cat person_, Guy thought.

"We'd better find Algernon," Marian said.

"Algernon? Who is that?" Guy asked.

"The dog . . ." she replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I thought his name was Lacy."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's Algernon," Marian corrected him.

"Well, the Sheriff always called him Lacy," Guy argued.

"The Sheriff wasn't the one who named him first, was he?" Marian challenged him. "_I_ gave him the name Algernon, and _that_ is his name. Now come on." She grabbed his hand and they followed the barking sounds.

Soon the barking was accompanied by mewing. It sounded like . . . kittens!

Guy and Marian quickened their pace. They turned a corner and saw the mangy dog with its tail stiff in the air. It was kneeling next to a large, hollowed-out oak tree with a hole in the bottom, and it was barking and pawing at something in the hole. The mewing sounds grew louder as they approached.

"Guy!"

"I see it. I'll get the dog. You get the kittens to safety," Guy answered her, circling around behind the dog. He reached out his gloved hands and tried to pull the dog away from the oak tree. The mutt slipped out of his hands and turned around to face him, snapping at him wildly.

"Yes, come with me, you little rascal," Guy said, leading him away from the tree toward a door to the castle.

Marian took this opportunity to look inside the hole at the base of the tree, where there were seven adorable, fluffy kittens shivering in the cold air. There were two grey ones, three black ones, one with mottled black and white fur like a cow, and one with orange fur. She squealed with delight and scooped them all up into her riding hood. She saw that Guy was leading Algernon (_not_ Lacy!) toward the kitchens, so she took the kittens across to the laundry entrance.

Suddenly she heard a loud meow. When she turned to look behind her, there was the sleek black mama cat following her angrily. She lunged at Marian's leg and tried to claw her, but luckily Marian had put on her thick leggings this morning to keep out the cold.

"Stop that!" she said as she tried to extract the hissing feline from her leg. "I'm just trying to help!" She tried to keep walking toward the laundry, but it was very awkward with the cat attached to her ankle.

Once Guy had finished locking Algernon (a.k.a. Lacy) in a closet to keep him temporarily out of trouble, he rushed back to the garden, where he saw Marian in need of his assistance. He approached her and kneeled down by her foot.

"May I, my lady?" he asked gallantly.

"Please get this cat off my leg," Marian replied. "She is _ruining_ my outfit."

Guy reached down and pried the irate kitty off Marian's leg, careful not to let the animal destroy the fabric of the red riding hood. He picked the cat up in his arms and held her up so that she could see her kittens, and this calmed her down a bit. He stroked the pussy cat and hummed in her ear. "Shhh, now, there's a good pussy," he murmured. She nearly melted. Guy had a way with women, even non-human ones.

Guy and Marian each carried their cargo into the laundry and got one of the serving women to provide a wicker basket with some fresh linens for the kittens and their mother. Marian fed them some milk, laughing as they splashed around in it, fighting for a chance to lap up the sweet liquid, all much to mama cat's chagrin. She chased after them and tried to lick them clean, but it was a lost cause as long as the milk saucer was still there.

The kittens and their mother were to be taken upstairs to Marian's room, where a servant would check on them from time to time. Meanwhile, Guy and Marian went back outside to retrieve the Sheriff's leg where Guy had dropped it.

As they walked to the oak tree, Guy noticed that Marian was smiling to herself and looking over at him every few seconds.

"What?" _Jesu, she's not still thinking about the thong, is she?_

"Guy, I think . . . I think I'm actually enjoying myself," Marian confessed. "This weekend has been strangely pleasurable."

"Oh." Guy thought over all the bizarre events of the past days. "Do you know, Marian – I miss the Sheriff a little. He would have appreciated the humor of the situation."

Marian giggled. "I suppose he would." She bent over to pick up the burlap bundle just at the moment when Guy was stooping down and reaching for it, as well. Their hands brushed each other as they touched the rough fabric at the same time. Marian suddenly felt warm under her red riding hood. She blushed as Guy shot her his most wolfish grin. _Is he looking down my dress?_ she wondered. His face was very close to hers, she noticed.

The next thing that happened startled her much more. Her face got nearer to Guy's until their noses touched, then their lips, then their tongues. She vaguely felt his arms grasping hers, then they both sunk down to the ground.

"Guy –" she gasped.

"Don't say you don't want this," Guy whispered huskily in her ear, as he moved Vasey's leg aside so she could lay her hooded head down.

"I don't know what I want anymore, so just shut up, Guy," she said, sticking her tongue between his teeth.

"Done," Guy muttered, rolling himself over on top of her and causing the Sheriff's disembodied leg to unravel out of its wrappings, not that he cared.

She felt his smiley-faced region hardening against her leg, and she also sensed Guy's hand tentatively reaching up from her waist to her breast. _Should I let him do . . . that?_ She suddenly thought of Robin and how she'd never let things get this far with him, even after they were engaged. Then again, chaste kissing had always seemed to satisfy him.

Marian slid her hand down Guy's leather-clad back, hesitating at his waist. _What am I doing? Oh, who cares? _She decisively reached her hand down and gripped Guy's firm behind, which made him grind his smiley-faced groin harder into her hip.

"Lady Marian? Sir Guy?" called Sir Phillip's voice from across the garden. "Are you out there?"

_Shhhhiiiiit. Dunghill has impeccable timing_, thought Guy, rolling off Marian and looking over to Phillip, who was approaching then in haste. _At least he's not wearing that ridiculous onesie anymore_.

"Oh, Lady Marian! I would like to show you my bandages," Phillip trilled. He stopped short when he saw Guy and Marian picking themselves off the ground. "Wait, what's this? What were you two doing out here, eh?"

_End of Chapter Thirteen_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Marian brushed the snow off her red riding hood and took a step back to hide the gnawed-off Sheriff's leg that was still on the ground. "Sir Phillip! We were just . . ."

"Making snow angels," Guy supplied, folding his hands in front of his swollen region.

"Snow angels! How thrilling!" Phillip exclaimed excitedly and bounced a bit. Then he gave them a stern look. "But you should have waited for me. Making snow angels is far more fun when it's a . . ." Phillip paused while he counted on his fingers. "One . . . two . . . four . . . three – when it's – a threesome!"

_I would so love to cram a wedge of cheese down his throat_, Guy thought, clenching his fists. _But he'd probably just swallow it and demand more_.

Allan, who had been alarmed to see Phillip heading outside to the spot where Guy and Marian were ankle-deep in more ways than one (not that he'd been watching from an upstairs window, or anything), trotted outside after him.

"Sir Phillip, we were actually about to go back inside." Marian stepped toward that young gentleman, allowing Guy to bend down behind her and snatch up Vasey's leg and wind it back up in the burlap. "Won't you come inside for a nice snack?"

"Oh, I say, a snack! That does sound good," Phillip chirped. "What did you have in mind?"

"_Leg_ of lamb?" Marian blurted out.

"Nonsense, Lady Marian. We've got some very nice _Limb_urger cheese in the larder," Guy said with a straight face. "Or perhaps some _blue-veined_ Gorgonzola."

"There's some filet of _sole_, I think," Allan said in his own voice, striding up to Phillip, "but I think it's gone rotten. Maybe the turkey _thigh_?"

"But no veal," Marian added with a smirk. "It's very cruel to the _calves_."

Phillip, not one to be left out of a conversation about food, piped up, "And maybe some Ricotta on toast? But do see that the cook cuts the heel off the bread like Mum does."

"No _knee_ to worry, Sir Phillip! The cook keeps this _joint_ runnin' _hip_-shape," Allan assured him with a cheeky grin.

"Very true, Allan; the cook is a most invaluable _appendage_ to the castle staff," Marian said.

Phillip could not help feeling that there was something going on that he was unaware of. This sensation usually made him hungry, so he said, "Yes, all that sounds very tasty. I think I will have a little something . . ."

************************************************************************

Phillip had indulged in a heartening mid-morning snack, which helped him shake off that strange inkling that there was something happening that he didn't quite fathom. When he rose from the table, he was steered into the hallway by Allan, who had arranged for his belongings to be packed neatly and placed by the door.

"What's this? Time to leave already?" Phillip inquired, startled. "But I've been having _such_ fun here in Nobblingham."

"We – will miss you terribly," Marian enunciated carefully, biting her lip. "It has been . . . delightful."

"Oh, but we shall meet again soon, shan't we?" Phillip said with a dreamy smile.

"We shall?" Marian asked, puzzled.

"Of course, my lady, for I believe we must both be present for the wedding. At least, I think that's how it works. And then you'll come and live with me forever!" said Phillip, hopping up and down animatedly. "And perhaps we shall even have . . ." he spoke, lowering his voice to an excited whisper, ". . . pillow fights! Every night if we want!"

Guy glowered. _It is impossible that she will choose to marry Phillip . . . isn't it? _He tried in vain to block the image of the two of them pillow-fighting.

"Of course, Sir Phillip," Marian replied, taking the nobleman by the arm and leading him into an unoccupied guards' chamber off the hallway. "I am very much looking forward to being Lady Dunghill." As she walked off with Phillip, she threw the stunned Guy a look back that was supposed to reassure him, but since Guy was not familiar with reassurance, he did not comprehend the visual message, and was therefore even _more_ troubled.

Allan tried to comfort Guy by placing a hand on his shoulder, but, again, comfort was a foreign concept to him, so he shook his manservant off and stormed outside, where the sun was now melting the snow very quickly. "Leave me alone!" Guy barked, shoving Allan into the wall.

"Oww!" Allan cried, rubbing his shoulder and following Guy into the vacant, slushy courtyard, where he stood beside a barren tree. "What was that for, then? Just because your girlfriend's gone off to marry some other bloke, you wanna take it out on me? Well, I'm not gonna stand fer it anymore. Not without a significant increase in pay, and a dental plan with a low premium."

"NOT NOW, ALLAN!" Guy roared, then began massaging the bridge of his nose. "Do you not understand what I have lost?" he mumbled into leather-clad fingers.

"Well, you still have me," Allan said in his half-joking way. "I know I'm not half so pretty in a shepherdess costume as she is, but I've never 'ad any complaints, either."

"You are not getting dental," Guy muttered, sniffing back eye moisture that was nothing like tears.

"Alright,_ fine_, no dental. Not like Nottingham dentists do anything that a good pair of plyers can't," Allan kidded. Then he grew serious again. "But I'm worth at least . . . thirty percent more to you."

"You must be joking," said Guy, looking up with reddened eyes. "Ten."

"Twen'y," Allan countered.

"Five."

"Okay, fifteen!" Allan protested.

"Very well, fifteen," Guy grumbled. "But I will take the difference out of your hide if you do not leave me alone this instant!"

Allan, instead of buggering off, posed stubbornly with his fist on his hip. "Guy, you'll take it out of me hide one way or another, anyway. So I might as well stay and cheer you up a bit."

Guy glared fiercely at his manservant. "Cheer me up? And just how do you think you're going to do that, Allan? A puppet show?"

"Geez, fine, I'll think of somefin' else, then." Allan paused. "How about . . . a hug?"

"A what?" Guy asked uncomprehendingly, as if Allan had suggested they splash around in the excrement heap for jollies.

"A _hug_," Allan replied, holding his arms out in demonstration. "It's where you stand there, and I put my arms around you like this, and then I kind of apply pressure, and it's sorta comfortin' like."

"I don't understand," Guy growled. _Is this what I think it is? Well, if I can't have Marian . . ._

"Jesus Christ, Giz, I was just teasin', anyway," said Allan, with a twinge of hurt in his voice.

"Oh. Right." Guy punched his fist into the unfortunate tree, then clenched his teeth together. _Why did I have to do that? _Guy thought._ This is why I have servants_. _They're much softer than tree bark._ "How can she marry Dunghill after – after – well, anyway, he's a – a –"

"Hey, she was gonna marry Robin Hood, too, and look how that turned out," Allan offered.

Guy looked sharply at him. "Do you think that she will change her mind about Dunghill?" He stepped over closer to Allan so that he could look directly down on him, and gripped his arm tightly.

"I dunno. I just know that she'd be crazy not to – I mean – if I were – I mean . . ." he trailed off. "Look, I just mean to say . . . that she's makin' a huge mistake."

Guy shook his head. "No. She's right not to want me. I am a cursed man. She deserves better than me," he said despairingly. "But better than Dunghill, too. I mean, _really_."

"Well, she couldn't do better than you, could she? I mean, curse or no, you're pretty much the biggest catch in Nottingham now, ain't ya?" Allan reminded him. "Plus, I don't think Marian believes in curses. Believes they're just 'fatalistic fantasies that inhibit us from pursuing open-minded scientific investigation to explain natural phenomena' or somefin' like that."

"Do you understand half the things she says?" Guy asked. "Because I don't."

"You and me both, Giz."

The men suddenly smiled at each other. On Guy's side it looked more like a sneer, but it was still a nice moment. He realized that he still had someone.

"What?" Allan asked, suspicious when Guy's smile did not instantly disappear. "I got somefin' in my teeth?"

"Not yet."

"Huh?"

"Allan, about this 'hug' . . ."

"Yeah?"

Guy eyed Allan uncertainly. "I would . . . like to try it."

"Wot?"

Guy sighed impatiently. "THE HUG. I will do it."

"Guy, I told you, it was just a joke," Allan protested. He ducked, thinking Guy was about to strike him, and nearly fainted when Guy's arms softly encircled him. "Oh . . . okay," Allan stammered, then reached around and patted Guy's back. "There you go now."

Guy ground his face into Allan's neck and pelted it with hot tears. They stood there a moment, intertwined awkwardly. Guy's sword hilt pressed itself into Allan's ribcage.

"She . . . chose . . . him," Guy whispered.

"There, there, now. If that's true, then she deserves him, don't she?" Allan murmured.

Guy sniffled and nodded unsurely.

"That's right, Giz! You're gonna bounce back! You're gonna find someone new!" said Allan, slapping Guy encouragingly on the shoulder.

Guy gradually looked up, and at last Allan could see his tear-stained face.

"There now, don't you feel bet- whoa!" Allan jerked away suddenly. "That's not your sword!"

************************************************************************

Marian sweetly batted her eyelashes at her betrothed. "Oh, Phillip . . . I may call you that, mayn't I? Now that we're engaged, I mean." She squeezed his arm enthusiastically.

"Of – of course, Lady – I mean, Marian! I am so very happy. Mum will never believe it!" Phillip exclaimed, his eyes shining. "There's so much to do for the wedding. There must be cheesecake, of course . . ." He started to salivate a little at the thought.

"Cheesecake?" Marian asked, suddenly stern. "Why, Sir Phillip, you haven't forgotten that I do not eat dairy products?"

Phillip deflated visibly. "Oh, yes, of course . . . but you needn't eat it if you don't like, my little yogurt cup." He gazed at her as if she were a very pretty lunatic. _How can the lady get on without cheese?_ "I will eat your slice for you."

"About that . . ." Marian knitted her eyebrows together.

"Er, yes?" Phillip said, suddenly feeling beads of perspiration forming on his face. Her tone alarmed him.

"I don't think it's fair that you should eat dairy when I do not. If we are to be married, we should do _everything_ together. And if I cannot do something, then you cannot, either." _Please let this work! _Marian prayed that Phillip's love of cheese would prove stronger than his feelings for her.

"Oh, dear! My – dear! I – oh, dear!" Phillip faltered. _Not eat cheese? Me?_

"Well?" Marian asked, folding her arms across her chest and cocking an eyebrow at him. "Don't you agree, Phillip, darling?"

Phillip dabbed at the torrent of sweat that was welling up on his forehead. "My lady, please, do not ask it of me . . ."

"Surely if you truly care for me, it will be but a little thing to give up!" Marian said, pouting.

"But Marian! It is _cheese_," Phillip pleaded. "A day without cheese is like a day without . . . well . . . _cheese_!" he cried passionately.

"Then what can we do?" Marian said, doing her best to look puzzled. "I'm sure I don't know."

Phillip flipped his sweat-soaked fringe of hair out of his eyes. "My lady – ahem – perhaps . . . perhaps I acted a bit ha- hat- hast- hastily . . ."

Marian's eyes grew round. "You mean –" Her lip trembled. She was _very_ good.

"I think perhaps I ought to take some time to think this over," Phillip said, summoning all his dignity. "The priest says that marriage is a very sullen thing and not to be done lightly."

"Solemn."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Solemn, not sullen," Marian said, suppressing a smirk.

"Yes, just as I said," said Phillip. "And Mum says you can't hurry love. 'Phillip,' she says, 'you just have to wait. Love and cheese don't come easy.'"

Marian sighed. "You are very wise, Sir Phillip. I can't argue with that." She tucked her arm into his and led him back out into the hallway. "I do have something I want to give you before we go, just to show that there are no hard feelings."

"A present? For me? Why, that is very thoughtful of you, my lady," said Phillip, looking much relieved. "I shall give Prince John a very nice report about you and Sir Guy and the Sheriff. You're ever so kind and sym . . . sympathetic."

Marian stopped him abruptly, clutching his arm. "Umm – perhaps the less said to Prince John about the Sheriff's kindness, the better."

Seeing that the hallway was empty and that the door leading onto the courtyard was open, they stepped outside into the bright sunshine.

************************************************************************

"Hands! Hands!" Allan squeaked.

Guy let go and Allan pulled away, stunned. Guy's face was reddening as he stared hard at the cobblestones.

"Hey, this is sexual harrassment, and I don't have to take it!" Allan asked. "I mean, if you think I'm gonna forget about my raise, you're barmy."

Guy looked up angrily. "Is that all you care about?" he snarled.

"No, o' course not. But if you think I'm gonna put up with bein' treated like a piece o' meat, then . . . okay, you're right. But I'm gonna need my own office with a window."

"Fine."

"Really? I mean –"

Just then, Marian and Phillip's arrival broke off their negotiations. "Guy! Sir Phillip and I have some news for you!" she shouted down to the two men.

_How can she be so cheerful about marrying that oaf?_ thought Guy, clenching his fists.

"We are not getting married after all, but I am going to give him a kitten to take back to Dunghill," Marian informed them as she and Phillip carefully made their way down the last of the slippery steps.

"Uhh . . . what?" Guy asked, throwing a confused look at Allan.

"You know, the black and white one that looks like a cow," Marian said, then turned to Phillip. "But you must remember not to try to milk it," she reminded him gently.

************************************************************************

Sir Phillip of Dunghill happily climbed into his carriage, carefully cupping the tiny black and white kitten, which had been named Lactica by Lady Marian, in his gloved hands. Lactica mewed contentedly, having just been fed some delicious sweet milk by her new friend. At last he had found someone who shared his love of dairy.

Allan reached through the carriage window and carefully tied the document bearing the Sheriff's seal to his wrist with thread. "There you go, mate."

Phillip sighed as he smiled down at his new friends. "Oh, what a lovely weekend this has been! It is such a pity I have to go home."

Marian stepped forward and handed him a large hunk of cheese. "Here is a little something for your journey, my lord."

Even Guy, who was hoisting up the now one-legged Sheriff, had a warm smile for Prince John's representative. He had never been so happy to see someone go away (except Winchester, but he didn't "go away" so much as "get stabbed with Guy's knife"). "Farewell, Sir Phillip. We shall . . . feel your absence _most_ keenly."

"Come back and see us again soon, my lad," said Allan-as-Vasey. "But not too soon, eh?"

Phillip sniffed back a tear. "Mum will be so proud of me! And perhaps Prince John will grant me a promotion. I have done rather a splendid job, haven't I?" And with a bite of cheese, he was off.

************************************************************************

Marian had returned to her room to check on the kittens. Now that Phillip was gone, she was forced to think about what would happen once Sir Jasper returned. The Sheriff would still be dead a month from now, so all their efforts this weekend had merely been a stall. She picked up the orange kitten and tickled its small belly as it tried to gnaw on her finger.

Suddenly an arrow with a rope attached whizzed past her and embedded itself into her bedpost, missing her head by only a few inches. _By the Virgin, Robin, haven't you destroyed enough of my things_?

The celebrated folk hero appeared at her window a few moments later. Marian's chin dropped. Her ex-fiancé was wearing an eyepatch, a green vest and pantaloons, a false peg leg (courtesy of Will), and bore a woodcock on his shoulder, that being the closest he could get to a parrot on short notice.

"What . . . are . . . you . . . wearing?" asked Marian. "Robin, you look ridiculous. And you're copying my look."

"Yeah, isn't it absolutely tits?" Robin preened, checking himself out. "I came to tell you about my new plan."

Marian rolled her eyes and groaned. "Not another one of your brilliant plans . . . Please tell me this one does not involve ruining my bed sheets."

"Not at all!" Robin said as he helped hoist Much, who was wearing a striped shirt, a bandana, and a silver hoop earring, through the window. "I'm going to become a pirate."

"A pirate?" Marian asked doubtfully.

Robin and Much assisted Will and Djaq through the window. Will was wearing a puffy-sleeved shirt and very tight pants, and Djaq was dressed similarly to Much, except that she wore a low-cut peasant blouse instead of a striped shirt.

"Good day, Marian. I trust everything has worked out well with Prince John's representative?" asked Djaq.

"Oh, yeah, that. How'd that turn out?" Robin asked, heaving at the rope. In a moment Little John was trying to squeeze his hulking frame through Marian's tiny window.

"Just fine, as a matter of fact," Marian said proudly. "We've saved the day. At least, for now."

"Good, good," Robin said, not really paying attention. He looked at Little John with annoyance. "John, _I'm _supposed to have a bird! We can't both have one! _I'm_ the Pirate King! There can be only one!"

"This plan I do not like," said Little John gruffly, ignoring Robin. He was wearing a ruffled blouse with a black velvet vest and matching trousers, and some ridiculously tall black boots. He also bore a stuffed bird on his shoulder.

"Oh, come on, man! This will be an adventure! For England!" Robin cried.

"For England!" shouted Much with his fist in the air, trailing off at the end as he realized no one else was doing it.

"So . . . let me understand this," Marian said slowly. "You are going to stop helping the people of Nottingham and become vicious thieves?"

"On the ocean!" shouted Much gleefully, throwing his hands up in excitement.

"Pirates, Marian," Robin corrected her. "Now that the Sheriff's dead, King Richard doesn't need us to protect Nottingham anymore. We'll roam the high seas and be pirates. But, like, noble pirates. We'll steal from the rich merchants and give to the less wealthy ones!"

"Pardon?" faltered Marian.

"It's going to be a thing, you'll see," insisted Robin. "People will remember me as the biggest booty pillager of all time!"

"Hurrah!" cheered Much.

"Robin Hood, scourge of the high seas?" Marian asked skeptically.

"Well, I haven't decided on a name yet. I was thinkin' maybe Dread Pirate Robin, or possibly Robin the Altruistic Robbing Sailor. I haven't quite got it all worked out yet, all right?"

"I still like Robin and his Potent Seamen, myself!" ejaculated Much.

"What about Lint Beard?" Marian teased.

"We wanted to say good-bye to you before we set sail," said Djaq, interrupting their banter. "We will miss you, Marian."

"That we will." Little John giving her arm a friendly squeeze, and Robin used this moment to knock the bird off his shoulder.

". . ." said Will, which Marian interpreted as, "Take care of yourself."

"I will, Will," Marian replied. She giggled. "Your name is _Will_!"

Will smiled in response, as if to say, "I have always thought that was rather funny, myself."

Robin coughed. "About my engagement ring . . ."

Marian shot him a look. _Really?_

"I'm sorry, it's just that I wanted to use it to help raise funds for buying our pirate ship," Robin told her.

"Of course. Just let me get it for you." Marian reached into her extra chamber pot where she had hidden the ring, snatched it out and handed it to Robin. "There. Good luck, Robin. And all of you."

"Good luck to you, too, Marian," Robin said, blowing her a cheeky kiss, then disappeared out the window. The others smiled at her and Little John gave her a big bear hug before they took their turns climbing back out the window.

"Good-bye, Robin," Marian whispered with a little smile.

************************************************************************

"I think we can go deeper than that, Allan," said Guy, shirtless and panting, as he stood behind his manservant.

"If we keep at this, we'll end up right in hell!" Allan rejoindered.

"Come on, Allan, you don't really believe that, do you?" Guy sneered, bending down again for one more thrust with his instrument.

"Well, it's, like, metaphorical, I think," said Allan, blotting his forehead with a cloth. "But I can't keep goin', Guy. I'm all out o' breath."

"Pansy."

"Am not! I'm the one takin' all the heavy load, ain't I?"

"Shut up and put your back into it," growled Guy as he leaned over to shovel some more dirt out of the hole he and Allan were digging to bury the Sheriff's festering corpse. "We've got to make sure nobody ever finds the body, or we're all . . . uh . . . dead men," he said, eyeing Vasey's remains, which were laid out on the ground above them.

Allan sighed dramatically, bent down, and heaved another shovelful of earth out of the pit that was now almost above their heads. The ground was still partially frozen hard, and their bodies (Guy & Allan's, not Vasey's) were steaming as the heat met the cold air.

After they had resumed digging for a few minutes, Allan's shovel got caught on Vasey's arm and tipped the cadaver into the grave, where it narrowly missed the two men. It hit the solid earth with a disturbing "squish" as some mysterious fluid spurted out. Allan's battle training reflexes kicked in. He twirled the shovel in the air and plunged it into the Sheriff's chest.

Allan's eyes widened in disgust as he gaped down at the now decidedly mangled corpse. "Oh god oh god oh god he's lookin' at me!"

"Then don't look at him!" Guy said, grabbing Allan's arm in an attempt to pull him away.

He was too late, though, for Allan was already vomiting all over Vasey, coating the former Sheriff with a thick coating of upchuck.

"On second thought, I think the hole's deep enough," Guy said, hoisting Allan out of the pit.

Allan gripped his master's hand to pull him up in turn, then leaned over, huffing. "Bet you couldn't get an Irishman to do _that_, could ya?"

Guy merely gave him an inscrutable look and tossed him his shovel. "Fill the hole. And make sure it's packed tightly!"

"Wait a tick, what about you? Aren't you gonna help?" Allan inquired as he watched Guy put on his shirt.

"I have some unfinished business to attend to," Guy said darkly. "Oh, and when you're finished, go to the dungeon and fetch the feather I left down there."

Allan's shoulders drooped resignedly. "Fine. _Fine_, I'll take care of it. You go off and get the girl. _I'll_ be alright. Don't worry about _me_."

"Good," Guy said, strapping on his belt. "Oh, and . . . th-th. Thhhh. Thhh."

"What are you tryin' to do?" Allan asked wonderingly.

"I'm trying to say thhhh . . . thaaaank. Thhaaank you. There, I said it. Now get back to work." Guy trotted off back into the castle.

"Well, fuck me," said Allan, a smile soon replacing the initial look of shock on his face as he watched Guy go.

************************************************************************

Marian nuzzled the black kitten, which peered up at her with piercing blue eyes. "You know, you remind me of someone," she said as its tiny pink tongue licked her nose. "But I can't think who."

The next moment the door burst open. In the doorway stood Guy, flushed and glistening with sweat and probably some of Vasey's bodily fluids. "What's the matter now?" she asked, standing up and brushing the floor dust off her clean white toga.

"I have a proposal to make," said Guy breathlessly. "And I have to do it now, before there are any more interruptions."

_End of Chapter Fourteen_

_Stay tuned for the climactic-ish conclusion of "Weekend at Vasey's"!_


	15. Chapter 15

Special thanks are due to my husband for beta-reading and doing the Guy & Allan voices, and thanks to all the people whose ideas I blatantly stole. Consider it an homage.

Warning: This chapter contains more explicit sexual content than the previous chapters. I know. You're welcome.

_Marian nuzzled the black kitten, which peered up at her with piercing blue eyes. "You know, you remind me of someone," she said as its tiny pink tongue licked her nose. "But I can't think who."_

_The next moment the door burst open. In the doorway stood Guy, flushed and glistening with sweat and probably some of Vasey's bodily fluids. "What's the matter now?" she asked, standing up and brushing the floor dust off her clean white toga._

"_I have a proposal to make," said Guy breathlessly. "And I have to do it now, before there are any more interruptions."_

Chapter Fifteen

Marian's mouth quirked up at the edges for a moment and then dropped again. "Guy, you know how I feel about marriage," she said gently. "I value my freedom too much." She sighed wistfully. "I am not the marrying kind."

Guy stepped quickly over to her and clutched her hand lightly. He did not appear upset at her refusal; instead, he seemed to anticipate it. "I'm not asking you to marry me, Marian." He snickered. "Your name is Marian, but you're not the marrying kind. Rather ironic, isn't it?"

"Wait a moment – you're not asking me to marry you?" Marian said a bit indignantly. "Then what is your proposal?"

"Well . . ." Guy said, taking a deep breath, then holding her hand up to his lips and kissing it softly. "One does not need to be married to enjoy . . . intimacy," he continued in a low rumble. His breath and his stubble tickled her knuckles.

She took a step back, her eyes widened, her pulse quickened, and Dickey the orange kitten meowed loudly from the basket on the floor. "Guy, what are you saying?"

"I'm talking about you and me," he murmured, caressing her shoulder and "accidentally" nudging the strap of her toga down her arm. His fingers followed it down to her elbow. "And possibly Allan." His voice was so low she almost couldn't make out the words.

"What?" she cried, flabbergasted.

"But only if you're into it!" he finished rapidly. "Look. There is something between us. You can't deny it anymore, not after what happened – in the garden. And last night."

She nervously ran a hand through her crimped hair and fingered the laurel wreath that sat atop her head. "So you are suggesting that we – "

Seeing that she was unable to come up with an appropriate term for what he was proposing, he opted to demonstrate. His left hand cupped the back of her head, and his right swept around to the small of her back. Her lips eagerly met his as they resumed their activities sans Sheriff leg. After several minutes of increasingly heated kissing, Guy guided her toward the bed, careful to avoid stepping on any adorable kittens that were romping playfully about the floor.

Marian allowed him to guide her shoulders down until she was sitting on the bed, looking up at him. The strange bulge in his trousers was directly in her eyeline. "Guy, I want to ask you something."

"Yes, Marian?" he said, stroking her hair. He sat down next to her and waited for her query.

"I thought you wanted to marry me," she said. "What has changed?"

Guy's mouth curved into a half-smile. "If I can't have you as my wife, then I will take what I can get." He exhaled deeply.

"So you want to be like . . . kissing partners?" she asked him uncertainly. _Surely there must be more to it than that. _She blushed, suddenly remembering the way his hand had crept up toward her breast earlier.

Guy looked down at the kittens and laughed. "Not exactly, my love. I want more than that from you – if you will give it to me willingly."

"You mean my – virtue?" Marian asked vaguely, wondering if this had something to do with the "snake" in Guy's undergarments.

"Well, if you want to put it that way," Guy said, pulling something out of his pocket. He held out a small piece of what looked like rubber. "If we use this, then you won't have to worry about babies," he explained, "unless you want them." He glanced sideways at her, almost shyly now.

"Really?" she asked, poking at the strange device. "How does it work?"

"I . . . I believe I will have to show you, since you are so . . . _innocent_, in some ways at least," he said, watching her with merry blue eyes. "It's just something I picked up in the Holy Land. We could have more of them made . . . if . . . " he trailed off.

"And . . . this all has something to do with – with your 'snake,' doesn't it?" she asked.

"Yes." His face suddenly became serious, almost sad. "But – Marian – tell me the truth. Is it really over between you and Hood?" He stared at her with a half-hopeful, half-vulnerable, half-trepidatious look. (Again with the fractions. Tsk, tsk.)

She suddenly giggled. "Umm . . . I think it's safe to say that you needn't worry about Robin Hood anymore," she told him, "both in regards to me _and_ Nottingham."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning . . . he has found another line of work that he hopes will suit him better. He's gone. For good, I think." She laid a hand on his arm reassuringly.

Guy looked down and covered her hand with his. "And _your_ feelings for _him_?"

"Gone the moment I saw him in his new uniform," she said, putting a finger beneath her nose in an attempt to stifle a laugh.

"And – what about me?"

"I haven't seen you in the uniform," she said, confused.

"No, I mean – what about your feelings for me?" Guy asked.

"I – I feel – rather warm," Marian answered, fanning herself. "Is it hot in here, or is it just you? I mean, me?"

"I believe it's both of us," he said, pulling her into another kiss and laying her head down on the bed, which had been covered with a new, unripped blanket and clean pillows. Pudsey looked at Guy accusingly out of his one remaining eye.

Marian clasped the back of his head, enjoying the kissing but nervous about what was to come. Guy pulled down the other arm of her toga and slowly pulled the garment down past her nipples, both of which hardened under his hot breath. She gasped as he sucked one of them into his mouth and tickled it with his tongue, then moved on to the other. She could only bite her lip and stare at the ceiling. _Robin never did that before_, she thought wonderingly. _Are we fornicating yet? But Guy isn't using that little rubber device . . ._

"Marian . . ." Guy hissed as he licked the space between her breasts, his hands squeezing them firmly. "You are a wonder."

She inhaled deeply and allowed her neck to tilt back. Then she nearly panicked as she realized that she was growing damp in that area between her legs. _Not again!_ But this was different, not like during the tickling. It felt strangely pleasant.

Guy stood up and began unfastening the odd little wolf clasps on his leather jacket. He finally pulled it off to reveal a black leather undershirt, which he quickly removed and threw on the floor, where the kittens eagerly pounced on it. Marian shakenly took in the sight of his sweaty chest muscles and the graceful arc of his triceps.

He paused, looking at her seriously for a moment. "Marian . . . promise me that if we cannot find away to save Nottingham from Prince John, that you will come away with me . . . and Allan," he pleaded in a choked voice.

"No! I will not abandon Nottingham!" she cried. "How can you say that?"

"But if there is no other way –" he insisted.

"We will find one," she said firmly. "And that is final."

Guy shrugged in capitulation. _If I'm going to die, at least maybe it can be while I'm fucking Marian_, he thought. He smiled again. "Here's to going down fighting," he grunted.

He knelt down on the floor (again carefully avoiding squashing the kittens). He lifted her dress, put his hands on her thighs, and slowly glided them up toward her waist. Panicking as he neared her moist bits, she slapped her hands down on his and stopped them from going any further. "Guy! What are you doing?"

"Trust me," he rumbled, kissing her knee. His lips trailed their way up the tops of her legs as a shiver shook Marian's entire body.

************************************************************************

Allan wiped his bare arm across his dripping forehead. He leaned over to pat down the dirt on Vasey's grave one more time, hoping that Guy would be pleased with how tightly he had packed the hole. As he admired his work, he noticed a small white speck on a patch of ground where the snow had been disturbed. He bent over and picked it up, squinting as he held it up to identify it.

"Gee, Vasey, looks like you left me somethin' to remember you by," Allan said, chuckling. He slipped the tooth into his jacket pocket and slipped his tunic over his head. Slinging the jacket over his shoulder and whistling, he trotted off back to the castle.

Once inside, he slipped down the stairs and into the dungeon, where everything was predictably dank and musty. Something scuttled out of the walkway as he lit a torch to bring some illumination to the murky place. He strolled over to the stocks where Guy had tortured him and Marian last night and began searching for the missing goose feather.

Just as he bent down to pick up the striped plume, he heard a clamor coming from one of the cells further down the hallway. Someone was banging something against the bars of his or her cell and whimpering loudly. He stuck the feather behind his ear, which made him look quite rakish, if a little silly, and strutted authoritatively in the direction of the noise. "Oy! What's all this?"

"My brother, my friend! Let me out!" cried a raspy voice that seemed somehow familiar to Allan.

"If I let you out, everybody else'll want out, too," Allan replied snarkily, then paused to consider as he approached the darkened cell. _Then again, the Sheriff's dead, so what's it matter?_ He wondered what Guy would do with all these poor wretches now that Vasey was out of the way. _Maybe he'll be in a good mood and set 'em free_.

"Sheriff, my dear Sheriff, let me out! You know me. You know me." The gravelly voice continued to whine.

Finally Allan reached the cell and peered through the darkness at the face of the prisoner, which was gaunt and covered in a mangy gray beard. "Quiet down, mate. Sheriff ain't here." He held up the torch, taking a closer look at the man's face.

"Let me out! I know your secret!" the man cried pitifully.

"SWEET BABY JESUS!!!" he yelped, dropping the torch on the floor and nearly setting himself on fire. "No – noooo!"

************************************************************************

"Guy . . ." Marian groaned, letting a wave of pleasure make her forget how strange all this was. She closed her eyes tight as Guy's hands gripped her hips and his lips drew nearer to the bushy region that was tingling and driving her almost mad. Strange as the feeling was, her body screamed for Guy to touch her there.

Guy looked up, observing her licking her dry lips. He shot her a wolfish grin that made her want to cry out in accompaniment with the tension racking her body. "Do you trust me?" he said, smirking, but with a hint of seriousness.

When she did not immediately answer, his face darkened. "I see."

"Guy – I do not – I do not know if I trust you, but . . . I know that I don't want you to stop . . . what you're doing," she said breathlessly.

With a gutteral noise, Guy slipped a finger inside her for a moment, watching her reaction. After a few seconds, he applied his tongue to the just the spot that was demanding his attention. She might have wondered how he knew to do that, but she didn't. She was too busy clutching his hair and wrapping her legs around his head. Now that she had jumped in head first rather than dipping her toe cautiously into the metaphorical sex pond, she was past her initial shyness. "OH MY GOOOOOODDD!!!"

Ten minutes and three earth-shattering orgasms later, Marian finally loosened her grip on Guy's head and shook him off. "That – was the best thing ever," she said through gasping breaths. Then she sat up, alarmed. "But you forgot to use that rubber device! I'm not going to have a baby now, am I?"

Guy, standing up, wiped his chin and laughed low and deep. "That's not what it's for."

"You mean there's something else?" she asked, suddenly nervous again. Then she noticed that his trousers were looking tighter than usual.

He nodded, looking down to the same place where her gaze was fixated. "Curious?" he asked, smirking.

"Perhaps," she said, plucking up courage once more. She stood up in front of him and wrapped her arms around his neck, and then peppered his face with kisses.

Guy pretended to be shocked. "Why, Lady Marian, I believe you are enjoying yourself. Perhaps you truly are a wanton."

"Is that a complaint?" she asked teasingly.

"Not at all," he grumbled. "So you do not regret being . . . cut loose by Dunghill?"

They both laughed. "Not exactly," she said saucily. Then her eyes dropped wanderingly down to his bulge again. "Guy . . ." she whispered as her hands dropped down to rest on his pecs, "what is that rubber thing for?"

Guy smiled ferally and stepped back from her, giving himself enough room to unlace his trousers. "Are you ready to find out?"

She exhaled loudly as if assuring herself. "Yes." She watched as his leather trousers dropped down his steely legs into a wad on the floor. Eddie, one of the grey kittens, ran over to them, sniffed them, then sat back and mewed as loud as his little lungs would allow.

"What's the matter, little fellow?" Marian asked, picking him up. She watched in fascination as Guy's smiley-faced thong slid down his muscular thighs. _Gulp_.

************************************************************************

"No, no, no, I'm dreamin'. You're not real. This is a bleedin' nightmare!" Allan shouted, backing up against the wall. Then he remembered that the other man was behind bars, but still he felt terrified. "You can't be here. I just spent three fuckin' hours buryin' you, so you'd better be bloody _dead_!"

"You – you're not the Sheriff!" cried the creepy figure in the cell.

"Yeah, well, neither are you!" Allan retorted. "But you look just like him."

The man shuffled forward and put his thin face through the bars. "That's Lacy," he croaked.

"Nutter," Allan spat, thankful that he had not eaten prunes for breakfast that morning. "You nearly scared the shit outta me, mate."

"Lacy! Lacy Vasey!" clamored the man in the cell.

"Look, you're clearly off your nut, but what are you talkin' about? Vasey . . . isn't here."

The man's eyes seemed to clear for a moment. "Don't you know that I am Vasey? Stacy Vasey! Stacy Vasey!" he rattled.

"What are you on about?" Allan asked cautiously. "Who's Stacy Vasey?"

"I am, you adorable boy!" the man cried out, starting to go off again.

Allan stepped closer and put his hand on the man's arm. "Hey. Look at me. Focus." He noticed that the man truly did look just like Vasey, only on a hunger strike. "Tell me what you're doin' in here."

"Lacy – Lacy put me here . . . so long ago . . ."

"Wait a tick. _Lacy?_ Lacy Vasey? _That's_ the Sheriff's name? No wonder he turned out evil," Allan said, starting to put things together. He grabbed the keys and unlocked the cell, supporting the weak man with his arm. "Let's get you upstairs. You can explain all this to Guy." He led the prisoner, who continued to mutter apparent nonsense, out of the dungeon and into the Sheriff's bedroom.

************************************************************************

Marian shuddered as she gaped at Guy's "snake." _Jesu, it's like a python!_ And it was. It was really immense. Like, huge. Like enormously gigantically titanic. Guy possessed the largest trouser serpent in England, or maybe even all of Europe. Probably even in the entire world ever. It was big, is what I'm saying.

"Oh, my God." Marian began stroking the kitten anxiously.

Guy picked up the strange rubber device and held it out to her. "Put it on. . . please." He pointed to his colossal love-muscle.

"Very well," Marian replied. She plunked Eddie down on the floor again. Her shaking fingers fumbled with the odd rubber thingummy and finally managed to roll it over his erect Brobdingnagian member. "There," she said, hurriedly stepping back to observe the result. "Does that look right?"

"Uhh . . . I think so," Guy replied. "I never used them before."

"Oh." Marian pursed her lips. "Now what?"

His face grew somber. "It will hurt the first time," he warned her. "And there will be blood when I – take your maidenhead." A shudder rippled through his chest at the thought.

She swallowed hard and nodded, unable to take her eyes off the rubber-encased snake. "I am ready." She paused. "But, um, what does it do?"

Guy reached up under her toga and indicated the spot where the mysterious body part should go. Suddenly Marian's mouth went dry at the same moment that another area was getting moist again. _Oh. My. God. _That_ is sex?_

"Guy, there is something I should tell you," she said, biting her lip nervously. "I may have already . . . um . . ."

Guy clenched his jaw tightly. "You mean you and Hood. You gave yourself to him."

"What?" Marian laughed spontaneously. "No! Oh. Guy. No. Not Robin. I meant my horse."

************************************************************************

Allan tucked the feeble Stacy Vasey into the late Sheriff's bed and began spoon-feeding him some hot chicken soup. "There you go. Just lie still, now. Got to get your strength back before you start talkin' too much." Allan's mind whirled with the possibility that this familiar-looking stranger might be the key to saving Nottingham. Of course, this man was emaciated from his stay in prison, and his sanity was questionable at best, but it was better than no plan at all. After all, they had managed to keep the scheme going thus far, so perhaps it was just a matter of persistence . . . and a strong dose of luck.

Stacy slurped the chicken soup cautiously, but his cheeks brightened as its warmth suffused his body. "You mean to tell me that my brother is dead?" he asked between sips.

"Yeah. No comin' back from that one," said Allan, thinking of the shovel plunging into the Sheriff's decaying torso.

"What a pity. I mean, he did lock me up in that cell for God knows how long with no food, but he was my only twin brother." Stacy shook his head sadly.

"Uhh, yeah, it's a real tragedy," Allan muttered. _Poor bloke really is off his nut_.

"I say, do you have any Swiss cheese?" continued Stacy, as if he'd forgotten what they'd been talking about. "I've had a real hankering for it lately."

_Not that again! _ Allan bit his tongue and replied gently, "Uh, sure, mate, I'll check and see if we've got any left."

Stacy finished his soup and fell into a heavy sleep. Allan decided to take this opportunity to go and tell Guy the good news. He walked in the direction of Guy's bedchamber, but, not finding him there, remembered Guy's words to him, and headed off toward Marian's room.

Excited by the prospect of not being beaten for once upon delivering a piece of news, Allan flung the door open heedlessly.

_SWEET BABY JESUS!_

************************************************************************

"Your – horse –" Guy coughed and spluttered, then began searching Marian's room for a pitcher of water. Not finding it, he turned to her wash basin and brought some rose-scented water to his mouth. Marian began to vigorously pat him on the back. After a few minutes of this, Guy regained control of his breathing and turned around to face her. Marian sneaked a peek downward, noticing that, although it was no longer stiff, his "snake" was still gargantuan.

Guy grasped her arm as if for support. "Marian," he began, inhaling deeply, "what do you mean, you lost your virtue to your _horse_?"

"Well, one day I was riding through the for- um, on my father's property, and the horse was particularly jumpy that day, and the saddle horn . . ." she trailed off, mumbling something inaudible.

"What?" Guy asked, leaning in closer.

Marian raised her voice again. "And that is how I ruined my white riding dress."

Guy looked at her suspiciously for a moment. _Could she be lying? Is she protecting Hood again?_

Marian, reading his thoughts, said, "Guy, I swear to you it wasn't Robin. Do you think I could make up such a story?"

He searched her face intently for a moment, then reached out for her hand. "Horse or Hood, doesn't matter," he whispered lovingly. "You're with me now . . ."

Guy untied the sash at her waist, then slid her toga down off her smooth shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Then he swept her up in his arms and carried her back to the bed, laying her down gently. His extremely large "snake" began to extend itself again with the sight of her naked, willing body.

Guy got up on the bed on all fours, then crawled on top of her. He slid a finger inside her, then another, then another, then another, in order to stretch her out for his huge member to enter.

"Oh, Guy!" she cried out feverishly.

"Are you ready, milady?" he hissed into her ear, slipping his massive instrument into her.

"Oh! Guy!" she cried, a little more agitatedly. Beads of sweat began forming on her brow as Guy began to pound into her. "Ohhhhhhhh . . . ohhhhhhhhh!" She gave herself up to the strange sensations going on between their legs.

Guy groaned as he felt himself filling her with his vastness. His mind suddenly went back to the fantasy from his sexy alone time. "Marian . . . I want you to ride me," he grunted, rolling them over so that she was on top of him.

She raised herself up and gripped him between her warm thighs. Guy could feel himself nearing the point of release as he reached up and squeezed her soft breasts and pinched her nipples. "Marian, you are the most beautiful woman in the wooooooooooo –aaaaaaahhh!"

"Oohhh – aaaaaaugh!" she screamed in unison.

Allan, master of inappropriate timing, opened the door at just that moment, in time to see Marian's bed collapse in two pieces with the naked pair trapped in between. They had forgotten that the bed itself had almost been destroyed in the fight yesterday, not just the blankets and pillows and Pudsey.

"Not bein' funny, but – oh, fuck me, I've got nothin'." Allan doubled over in laughter at the sight of the couple as the kittens raced over to see what all the excitement was about. The mama cat (dubbed Ghislaine by Guy) followed after them. Soon Guy and Marian were surrounded by pussies, all meowing and jumping and licking.

"Allan!" Guy growled at his manservant. "Quit laughing and help Lady Marian!"

"Oh, it's _Lady_ Marian now, is it?" he said with a chuckle, assisting her out of the mass of bedding and kittens as she attempted to cover herself by holding Ghislaine across her chest.

Next Allan attempted to pull Guy's arm to help him to his feet. As he tried to avoid stepping on Dickey, his foot slipped and he fell straight onto Guy's solid chest. He could feel Guy's huge "sword hilt" pressing into his ribcage again. Suddenly Guy's strong hands clapped around Allan's arms and lifted him up.

"Hey, I knew you'd be happy to see me, Guy, but this is ridiculous!"

"Shut up, Allan, and get the kittens to safety." Guy waited until all the kittens were out of the way before he stood up. The bed creaked and then gave way completely.

Marian had re-covered herself with her toga and was just putting her laurel wreath back on when Guy approached her and, squeezing her arm, asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Guy, I don't think anything's broken . . ." she looked down at him. "And . . . and you?"

"Not broken," Guy assured her as he picked up a sheet and wrapped it around himself.

"Are we goin' camping, Guy? 'Cause it looks like you've pitched us a tent!" Allan said, pointing to Guy's prominently protruding member.

Guy clenched his teeth. "Something you wanted, Allan?" he snarled dangerously.

"Oh, yeah. I've got great news, Giz! The Sheriff's got a identical twin brother!" Allan reported cheerfully.

"That's impossible," Guy snorted. "He would've told me."

Allan and Marian looked at Guy pityingly.

"Oh. Right."

"Tell us more about it," Marian said encouragingly.

"Well, apparently – get this – the Sheriff's real name was _Lacy Vasey_!" Allan answered with a chuckle.

"But isn't Lacy the dog's name?" asked Guy dubiously.

"His name is _Algernon_!" shouted Marian curtly.

"But the Sheriff called him Lacy," Guy reminded her.

"Then he must have named the dog after himself," Allan said, hoping this wasn't going to devolve into another pun-fest. "Anyway, the point is, we can dress him up like the Sheriff and Prince John'll never know the difference, right?"

"What about his teeth?" Guy asked. "The Sheriff had a missing tooth."

"Oh, I dunno about that."

Guy sighed. "Well, I will go and see him . . . later." He looked significantly at Marian, who smirked back at him.

"Alright, alright, I get it," Allan grumbled. "I know when I'm not wanted."

He moved to go, but Guy grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. "Not so fast," he rumbled. "I never said you weren't wanted."

"Wot?" Allan said, astonished.

Guy looked at Marian questioningly. She looked uncertain, but then shrugged her shoulders. "Monogamy is merely the consequence of the patriarchy's ascendancy over the hierarchical structure of interpersonal domestic relationships," she said with a little smile.

"Pardon?" Guy asked, confused.

"I think that was a 'yes,' Guy," Allan said, beaming.

"Well, then . . . what are you waiting for?" Guy said with a leer.

Allan whipped out the goose feather and twirled it around admiringly. "Oh, don't be so impatient." There was a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes as he looked back at Guy. "We've got all night."

Guy gulped. _Not the Feather of Fear!_ His looked pleadingly to Marian, who shook her head slowly at him, an amused smile creasing her lips. There would be no mercy from her, either.

************************************************************************

_Several hours later . . ._

"I apologize. This is going to hurt you a lot more than it's going to hurt me," Guy said gently. Then he firmly socked Stacy Vasey in the jaw.

"Oooooooowwww!" the poor man moaned. Marian wiped the blood off his mouth with a towel, then Allan applied a cool compress. Stacy coughed for a few minutes, then spit up a single tooth, which Allan picked up and deposited in a bowl.

"Are you alright?" Guy asked, leaning over the frail man. Stacy was looking a bit better, though, after enjoying a hearty meal with some Swiss cheese that Phillip had miraculously not eaten. His beard had been trimmed into a neat goatee, and his long wavy hair had been shaved away. Aside from his scrawny frame and the facial hair, he now looked exactly like the late Sheriff, except that the usual scowl was replaced with an infectious smile (minus one tooth now).

Stacy attempted to answer, "Mmmff, mmf feewng mch brr nww." Despite the punch to the jaw, he looked delighted to be there and not in the dungeon. Stacy spat out more blood and then cleared his throat.

"Thank you, my good man. Words are not enough to express my gratitude for your setting me at liberty."

Allan coughed.

"And you, of course, young man. You found me when I was just about to give up all hope. My mind had gone; I have been living off rats for the past three weeks. You see, my brother – God rest his soul – imprisoned me when I refused to impersonate him. He wanted me to go to Prince John and provide some service that he could not bring himself to perform."

"That would be the – uh – " Guy said, slowly realizing what "service" he meant. _Truly, it isn't _so_ terrible . . ._

Marian smirked knowingly, having lately learned to perform such services on Guy and Allan herself. _It's not so dreadful_, she thought.

_It's actually not that bad,_ thought Allan, grinning at Guy.

"Sixty-nine," said Stacy abruptly. "Sixty-nine days I have been in Lacy's dungeon with only a little water and a few crusts of bread to eat, and I didn't even get that the past few days."

"How awful for you!" murmured Marian soothingly. "But as the Sheriff you will be well looked-after. We promise."

"Yes, well, thank you, young lady. I believe I shall be Sheriff in name only and allow your fellow Gisborne here to run things for me. He seems to be a most capable man."

"Oh, he is! _Very_ capable," she replied, smiling slyly at Guy. "He is very _well-endowed_ with skills."

Allan chimed in, "Yeah, he's a right _enormous_ talent, he is."

"All right, you two," Guy said, pretending to warn them, but with a sparkle in his eyes. "Don't want me to have to _gag_ you."

"Oh, don't worry, Giz. Our lips are sealed." Allan mimicked sealing his mouth and hiding the key in Guy's pocket.

"Yes, not another _peep_," Marian replied solemnly, holding her fingers crossed behind her back.

Stacy leaned his head back against the pillow and sighed contentedly. "Ahh, to be young and virile again." Then he looked at them curiously. "So, are you three doing it, or what?"

************************************************************************

Marvin roamed the hallways looking for Guy, who still had not signed his time card. _I'm not even supposed to be here today_, thought the unfortunate fill-in. Sighing, he sank down onto a chair, despairing of ever being allowed to leave Nottingham castle before his children were grown and his wife married to someone else. _Percy owes me big time_.

Suddenly he heard the gait of the Master-at-Arms trudging down the dark hallway. Marvin stood up eagerly, hoping that perhaps this time he would get lucky and the nobleman would not ignore him. "Sir! Please, I just need a moment of your time –" he said, holding out the time card as Guy almost swept past him.

"What is it?" Guy asked, less harshly than usual. There was a strange smile on his face, as if he were incredibly pleased about something.

_Wonder if it's true what they say about him and his manservant_, thought Marvin. _Not that there's anything wrong with that._

"S-sir, I just need you to sign this," Marvin said, trembling. Guy snatched the sheet and the quill and hurriedly scratched his name into the paper.

"There you go, uhh . . ."

"Marvin, sir."

"Marvin." Guy began to walk off down the hallway, then turned back suddenly. "Wait, I don't recognize you."

"That's because I'm only fillin' in for me cousin Percival, my lord," Marvin said nervously.

Guy half-smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "Well, you're doing a fine job. I could use a few competent guards. How would you like to work for me full time?"

Marvin gaped at him, then paused to consider the offer. "Do you have dental?"

_End of Chapter Fifteen_

_Will Guy, Marian & Allan have more kinky sexcapades? Check out the totally gratuitous Epilogue to "Weekend at Vasey's"! You know, if you feel like it. Or not._


	16. Epilogue

Okay, so this was supposed to be done nearly week ago. Sorry about that. Anyway, I promise that this is the end! Enjoy!

Thanks again to everyone who's left comments! I love reading every one of them.

Please be warned that this contains somewhat graphic sexual content. (You're welcome.)

Epilogue

_Four weeks later . . . _

Guy of Gisborne stood on a platform, about to read a proclamation to the people of Nottingham. They were milling idly in the dewy air of early spring, waiting for someone important-looking to speak. Allan stood behind Guy, while Lady Marian was at his side. "Why are you so nervous? You can do this," she whispered in his ear.

"The people hate me," he muttered, shaking his head. "I can't expect them to suddenly turn away from Hood and be loyal to me."

"Of course you can," Marian said, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "They'll cheer for anything as long as you say it in the right _tone_."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you can say anything you want – you just have to sound enthusiastic about it, as if it's the best thing that's ever happened . . ." she lowered her voice, "although nothing could possibly top what we did last night." She smiled at the memory. "With Allan."

Sensing his lingering hesitation, Marian stepped up to the podium and said in a bright and cheerful voice, "People of Nottingham! I have good news! There is a terrible and deadly plague in the neighboring vicinity, and it's about to wipe out all of us! Hurrah!" She finished off by throwing her fist in the air enthusiastically.

"Hurrah! Plague!" shouted the crowd. "Long live whoever we're following this week!" They threw their caps into the air excitedly.

"See?" Marian turned and stepped off the platform, then waited for Guy to step up.

Guy, feeling considerably more confident, cleared his throat, unrolled a piece of vellum, and announced in his most upbeat voice: "People of Nottingham! I have . . . another announcement!" He paused for effect, then smiled as unmenacingly as possible for him, then continued, "The Sheriff has decided to take an extended vacation." He nodded to indicate the jovial fellow who was sitting on an ornate chair, covered in heavy blankets and one sleek mama cat. Stacy's cheeks were beginning to fill out already after making up for all sixty-nine days he'd been imprisoned by his brother Lacy Vasey. Trying to sound cheerful and coming off at least mostly non-threatening (baby steps, Guy), Guy continued, "The Sheriff has named me as his deputy, which means that I will have the authority to act in his name." He looked up worriedly, trying to gauge the crowd's reaction. They seemed uncertain.

Marian stepped forward and whooped, "Isn't that terrific? Hurrah!" The crowd took their cue from her and let loose a thunderous roar of applause (well, as thunderous as two dozen extras, er, townspeople can create).

Guy, feeling the infectious enthusiasm of the throng, threw his fists into the air and bellowed, "Death to Robin Hood!!!" to which the crowd responded with great gusto. Marian nudged him sharply in the ribcage, but Guy only murmured back naughtily, "Come, now, Marian, we don't want to lose them now."

"Death to Robin Hood!" they cried, cheering and clapping.

"Who's Robin Hood?" one man cried out.

"He's a great hero! Long live Robin Hood!" cried Kate, who was still wearing her hair in a most ridiculous fashion. "And he's totally my boyfriend!"

"Shut up, Kate!" they all yelled back. "Death to Robin Hood!"

_Oh, what the hell. It's not like he's here, and the people won't remember this a week from now, anyway._ "Death to Robin Hood!" screamed Marian, pumping her fist in the air.

"Long live Sheriff Vasey!" someone shouted.

"Long live Sheriff Vasey!" echoed the crowd.

************************************************************************

_Later that night . . ._

The Nightwatchman hid in the budding bushes and watched the evil and dastardly Guy of Gisborne leaving the conspicuously unguarded shack where he was holding some poor kittens hostage. _Only I can save them. _The masked hero waited until the leather-clad villain got upon his horse and rode off. He then crept stealthily up to the door and turned the suspiciously-unlocked handle, trying in vain not to make it squeak. He tiptoed across the shack, blinking back dust and squinting through the faint sunlight that was sifting through the loose boards above. He spotted the kittens, which were sleeping in a basket with their mother. _At least he hasn't harmed them . . . yet._

Suddenly the Nightwatchman was thrown to the ground, tackled by Gisborne's faithful shadow, Allan of Bonchurch. The pair scuffled on the floor, rolling over and over and getting the Nightwatchman costume quite coated with dirt. Finally Allan straddled his opponent's chest, pinning him down. Guy's manservant unlaced his trousers and watched as the Nightwatchman's soft lips surrounded his (also enormous) love-muscle. Allan leaned his head back and cried out, "Guy, I've caught the Nightwatchman!"

Just then Guy burst through the door. Somehow he had quick-changed into a black leather Speedo, and he was carrying a daffodil in his teeth. Allan stood up and pointed down on the floor to where the Nightwatchman lay sprawled out.

"Very good work, Allan," Guy rumbled, sliding up behind him and sucking his right earlobe and slipping a hand into his unlaced trousers. "I shall see that you are adequately rewarded."

The Nightwatchman's eyes grew wide under the mask as he observed the pair of them groping each other. _Oh, dear! I've been found out! What will become of the kittens?_

Then Guy turned his head back to glare at the Nightwatchman. "Seems you've found out about my evil plan," he hissed, "so I'm going to have to torture you. Allan! Grab his legs."

As Allan moved to obey his master, Guy got down onto his knees beside the Nightwatchman's torso and began unfastening the clasps on his leather jacket. Suddenly he gasped. "Why, you're not a man at all!" he bellowed, eyeing his . . . or rather, her luscious breasts with their perky nipples peeking out at him. "Well, Allan, what do you say? The rack? The Feather of Fear?"

"I've got a better idea," Allan said, sliding the Nightwatchman's hideous print trousers down and off her curvaceous hips. "Did I ever tell you I'm a cunning linguist, Guy?"

Guy smirked began twirling the tip of the daffodil along the Nightwatchman's chest, teasing her nipples and watching in admiration as they grew harder and harder in the cold air. "Which language was that, again?"

"Latin . . . French . . . fuck if I know, but I can do my ABCs," Allan said as he began fulfilling his calling as a linguistics expert. Soon the Nightwatchman could take no more of this torture and began to cry out five, six, seven . . . eighteen times altogether. Finally she shouted, "Enough! I give up! I'll tell you anything you want to know!"

Guy and Allan released her so that she could sit upright, and she took this opportunity to twirl around and kick their legs out from under them. She held a small curved blade to Guy's throat, allowing it to just barely nick the skin. She shot a warning look to Allan as she said, "Don't move, or Gisborne gets it!" She traced the knife lightly down that man's elegant neck, his firm pecs, and down the twelve-pack of his abdomen. "Then again, 'twould be a shame to carve up all this . . . but I do need to know what you're doing with those kittens," she finished, biting her lip. She moved her mouth very close to Guy's so that she could feel his breath. She took his bottom lip into her mouth and sucked on it, then released it with a snap.

"Oh, no, you don't!" she shouted as she felt him trying to pull out his "sword." "You'd better sheathe that immediately," she warned him, pulling out a duplicate of the strange rubber device from the Holy Land and fitting it snugly on his gargantuan "blade." She shivered as Guy's hands gripped her waist and settled her down on top of it.

"Is that better, Nightwatchman?" he asked, quirking a mischievous eyebrow.

"'Tis a snug fit," murmered the Nightwatchman, "so you'd better push it in as deeply as it will go. Otherwise I'll be forced to torture _you_."

"Yes, milady," Guy assented, standing up with her legs wrapped around his waist. After clamping the daffodil between his teeth again, he walked over to the side of the shack with the Nightwatchman's blade still at his throat, and then he pushed her back against the wall and began sheathing and unsheathing and re-sheathing his sword. "What were we arguing about, again?" Guy asked between gasping breaths.

"The kittens!" the Nightwatchman reminded him crossly. "You've abducted them, and I'm here to stop you. Now you'd –" just then she broke off her speech in order to emit a loud moan, then resumed. "You'd – ohhhhhh – better – mmmmm! – tell me – ahhh – what you're going to – ahhhh ooooohhh – do with theeeem!"

Before Guy could spill the details of his dastardly kitten-napping plot, Allan of Bonchurch, now dressed as a Saracen princess, approached Gisborne from behind. "You'll never get away with it, Guy," Allan rebuked him, whipping out his own "sword" and plunging it into Guy's backside.

"You – ennnnggg – have betrayed me?!" Guy shouted, panting. "Why, Allan?"

Allan continued to "stab" Guy, making for a most unlikely trio, a beast with three backs. "Because I couldn't let you get away with it. Those kittens are innocent," he said, wiping the sweat off his brow, "and I'm not gonna let you sell 'em to raise money for Prince John's army. It's wrong!"

"You'll pay for this," Guy said through clenched . . . teeth. "I promise you that."

"Lookin' forward to it," Allan replied cheekily.

"No _buts_ about it," Guy countered with an ominous grin.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to _rectify_ the situation," Marian said with a gasp as Allan reached up and squeezed her bosoms.

"First you'll have to _penetrate_ my defenses," Allan grunted, rearing his head.

"I'm sure I shall find you a most _ass_iduous opponent," Guy groaned, grinding his sword into the Nightwatchman's sheath and causing her legs to tighten around him.

"Guy – oh – oh – oh – Guy!!" she cried out.

"Guuuuuuuuyyyy!" shouted Allan in unison.

Maaarriiaaalllaaannn!!!!" roared Guy as he felt himself capitulating to the two goody-goodies. The daffodil fell to the floor. Guy glanced down at it as he felt the hot wave of satisfied lust reverberating through his body. _It will go nicely in my scrapbook next to Marian's ruined pillowcases._

And thus the kittens were rescued from the evil Guy of Gisborne by the Nightwatchman and Allan.

The End

No adorable kittens, folk-heroes-turned-pirate, horses, stuffed teddy bears, inept guards, manservants, cow-print onesies, overzealous kitchen maids, expensive cheeses, masked avengers, smiley-faced thongs, strawberries, or historical facts were harmed during the production of this ridicfic. Lacy Vasey, however, fell victim irrevocably to þe Olde Plotte Devyse.


End file.
